Bringing the Cool (and the Sandshoes and the Fantastic, Apparently)
by ThePro-LifeCatholic
Summary: A bunch of one-shots concerning the NuWho Doctors, along with their companions. They cover a variety of genres, from angsty to humorous, from love to comfort to downright ridiculous. Some of them will be dealing with events in an episode, but some of them are stand-alone. OCs may be included in some. Allons-y! NOW TAKING PROMPTS!
1. Prompt 92: All in the Name

**It's been forever!**

**I know I have a bunch of other stories that I need to be working on, but right now, I'm currently obsessed with the TV show known as "Doctor Who". 10 is my favorite, followed by 9, and then 11. I haven't seen any of the classic Who, and I'm waiting for season 8 to come out on Netflix so I can watch 12 (technically 14…).**

**Anyhoo, I decided that I was going to start a one-shot-fic concerning the Doctor and his companions. They will encircle Nine, Ten, Eleven, and their companions. I'll put the info (characters, themes, ect.) at the beginning, so no one gets confused.**

**I'm hoping that this will get me back onto some sort of writing schedule. I have a bunch of other Doctor Who story-ideas in my head, as well as a WhoVengerLock fic.**

**God bless and enjoy!**

**-ThePro-LifeCatholic**

* * *

**Writing Prompt #92: It's All in the Name**

**Characters: **Ninth Doctor, Tenth Doctor, Eleventh Doctor, River Song, Jack Harkness, Amy Pond, Rory Pond (Williams), Donna Noble, Rose Tyler

**Shippings:** Perhaps slight River/Eleven, and Jack/anyone else who happens to be within five feet of him

**Genre: **Humor

**Rating:** K

* * *

Nobody really knew how it had happened. One moment, the Doctor was flying around in his T.A.R.D.I.S., showing Amy, Rory, and their daughter, River, the wonders of the universe. And he had been doing a pretty good job of it, too.

"GERONIMOOOOOOO!" He had yelled excitedly, yanking down on levers. "So," he continued, facing his three companions. "Where to? The Medusa Cascade? How about the Silver Plains of the planet Slaviera-Komp? The plants are transparent, so they reflect the same color as the light that shines on them." He wiggled his fingers in the air, impersonating sunlight filtering through leaves.

"Ummm…question?"

The Doctor sighed.

"What is it, Rory?"

"Why would they be called 'the silver plains'? I mean, when the sunlight is shining on them, wouldn't that make it yellow? Or the golden plains?"

"It's mostly nighttime there," the Doctor responded, flipping another switch. "It's a lovely place. Been there twice, you know."

"When?" River questioned. She loved hearing about his past adventures, even the ones that he had before he was in his present form.

"Oh…let's see." He scratched his head. "I think…according to earth time, it was March 3, 2011. Why do you ask?"

Without saying anything, River turned the consul's computer-screen towards him and pointed at the date. The Doctor's eyes widened. Just then, an alarm began ringing, and lights started to flash.

"What's going on?!" Amy screamed, holding onto the railing for dear life. The T.A.R.D.I.S. moaned and rocked back and forth, sending her occupants flying around the room.

"The Doctor has been an idiot," River informed her mother, "again."

"I'm soooooorrrrrrrrrrrrrry!" the Doctor yelled as he went flying through the air.

* * *

"So let me get this straight," the man sporting a leather jacket and dark pants said for the umpteenth time. He was standing outside of a smoking T.A.R.D.I.S., accompanied by a small group of people. Standing next to him, one on either side, were two men. One of them was wearing a tweed jacket, suspenders, a bowtie, and had doffed a fruit hat for no apparent reason. The other man was a bit more…normally dressed. He was skinny though. My gosh! Talk about skinny. Did he have anything underneath that brown pinstripe suit and trenchcoat?

"You two are me from my future," the one in the leather began slowly.

"Yep." The one in the pinstripe popped the "p" at the end of the word.

"You bet," the other one responded.

"And those…people," Leather-jacket motioned to the group of males and females standing awkwardly around, introducing each other as "the Doctor's companion(s)", "are our…_my_ companions from the future?"

"Yep!" Again the "p" was emphasized.

"You bet!" The other Doctor pulled a banana off of his hat, peeled it, and bit an enormous chunk off of it.

"I'm gettin' a headache," the youngest Doctor complained, rubbing his head vigorously.

"It's his fault," Spikey-hair stated, looking pointedly at the eldest Doctor (who nearly choked on his banana).

"Excuse me!" he exclaimed, offended. "What exactly are you doing here? Wouldn't you remember that you came here as Dumbo on this exact date and time?"

"I didn't forget!" whined the pinstripe Doctor. "Weeell, maybe it _did_ slip my mind, but can you blame me?! I…_we_ go on so many adventures, I'm surprised I can remember all the ones that I do!" He jabbed an accusing finger at his oldest regeneration. "Besides, you're more to blame, 'cause this is the _second time_ for you."

"Oh, yeah. Let's all blame the oldest one for converging the T.A.R.D.I.S.'s, why don't we," Tweed-Doctor muttered darkly, shoving the rest of the banana into his mouth.

"Yoo-hoo! Sweetie!"

The three men jumped and turned. River was standing in front of the T.A.R.D.I.S., waving and motioning for them.

"What is it, River?" The oldest Doctor asked. Seeing as his mouth was full of banana, it actually came out sounding more like: "Wah ihf itf Rwivwer?"

"If you three would stop arguing, we could actually accomplish something useful, like fixing the poor T.A.R.D.I.S. before the galaxy blows up."

"Coming, dear." Having finished the banana, the bowtie-Doctor ran over to the blond-haired woman. The two younger Doctors exchanged disbelieving, and somewhat disgusted, glances.

"I can't believe I come to this," muttered the youngest Doctor. "Rose! Don't go asking too many questions. Can't have you figuring out something before it happens. And Jack!"

"Just stop it!" the Doctor in the trenchcoat finished the sentence.

"I was just saying 'hi'," the captain argued.

"And that's more than enough social interaction for you, don't you think?" the youngest Doctor responded smoothly. Amy and Rose chuckled.

* * *

"Nice of you two to come and help," the tweed Doctor said as his two younger selves ambled over.

"I was thinking I'd just supervise, actually," Leather-Doctor replied.

"Hold this, Sweetie," River commanded, handing the oldest Doctor a piece of metal.

"What's with the sappy nickname?" Leather-jacket wanted to know.

"It's not sappy," snapped Suspenders defensively. "It's a term of endearment."

"Whatever." Big-ears rolled his eyes.

"And you, Pretty Boy," River sauntered over to the skinny Doctor, "I want you to untangle these wires and connect them." She gave him a huge smile, and he couldn't help but notice how nice her teeth looked. He sighed, shrugged, and seated himself cross-legged on the grass. He ran his hands along the wire, trying to find where one began. The youngest Doctor felt himself slowly despairing of his future.

"You've both been…" he paused, trying to find the right word, "_domesticated._"

"And you…" River paused. "I don't have a name for you," she realized.

"That's 'cause I don't need one," Leather-Doctor said obstinately. "I'm the Doctor. I'm called that for a reason. I don't need a sappy nickname."

"Oh, yes you do," River responded with a mischievous grin. "Now," she settled herself down on the grass, next to Skinny. "What to call you?"

"How about Dumbo?" the oldest asked without looking up.

"Why on earth would you call me that?" the youngest asked incredulously.

"Seriously?" Pinstripe looked up at him. "I was thinking 'Biker', or something like that."

River shook her head slowly. "Nooo…none of those would do. I need something more…endearing."

"Dearie?" Tweed began listing titles, "Honeycomb? Appleblossom? Twinkie?"

Pinstripes made a face. "I hate Twinkies," he hissed darkly. Bowtie glanced over at him.

"It was once!" he exclaimed. Leather looked back and forth between the two.

"Do I really want to know what happened with the Twinkies and him?"

The eldest started to respond, but a look from his immediate predecessor shut him up.

"Doctooooooooor!" Rose moaned, running up to the Doctor in the black leather jacket and throwing herself dejectedly onto the ground. "We're going to miss that dance party if we don't get outta here soon!"

"I have a time machine, Rose," the Doctor pointed out. Sometimes humans could be pretty stupid (no offense, humans). River snapped her fingers and stood up, a smiling lighting up her face.

"Weren't you the regeneration that danced with Rose Tyler?" she asked the youngest Doctor excitedly.

"Yes…" he answered her warily, searching her face. Hands on her hips, River looked around her, triumph flashing in her eyes.

"I have the perfect name," she stated dramatically. All three Doctors (and the companions within hearing range) waited with baited breath.

"Twinkle-toes!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms out. There were several seconds of deafening silence, broken by a loud laugh from Donna (of course Donna would be the one to start it). Within the next few seconds, everyone was rolling on the ground, heaving with laughter.

Weeeell…almost everyone. The youngest Doctor, recently dubbed "Twinkle-toes" by his future wife, stood in the middle of them, gazing at them with his most foreboding expression.

"I hate you all," he breathed through gritted teeth. Unfortunately, everyone was too busy gasping and laughing to pay attention to him.

* * *

**Hope you all enjoyed this. I won't be posting too regularly for this; I'll be posting whenever I get something written. I hope that as time goes on, I can start some sort of schedule for this. But in the meantime, God bless and Allons-y!**


	2. Prompt 16: Worldwide Blackout

**Thanks for all who read the first chapter! I had a blast writing it, and I won't be stopping any time soon! Also, most of these won't be following each other in any particular order (unless there's a two-parter or something like that). So characters and themes will be changing from story to story.**

**God bless and have a great day (or night)!**

**-ThePro-LifeCatholic**

* * *

**Writing Prompt #16: World/City-Wide Blackout**

**Characters: **Amy Pond, Rose Tyler, Donna Noble, Nancy (the mom from _The Empty Child_ and _The Doctor Dances)_, and George (the boy from _Night Terrors_, the one with the creepy dolls), 11th Doctor, 10th Doctor, 9th Doctor

**Shippings: **None

**Genre:** Hurt/Comfort (sort of)…sort of suspense, I guess. Also hopeful/courage/strength, but I'm not sure if that's even a genre setting on this site…

**Rating: **Leaning more towards K+, because of its more serious theme

* * *

_When lights go out, people's first instinctive reaction is fear. Not so much of the dark itself, but of what can be lurking, unseen, within it._

A girl with red, shoulder-length hair was sitting on the wooden stairs that led to her bedroom. Her face was cupped in her hands, her legs drawn up almost to her chest. Her imaginative drawing, a deep blue canvas dotted with splashes of gold paint, had been trashed almost as soon as her aunt had seen it.

"There are no stars," her aunt had said, anxiously peering into her niece's eyes. It was as if she were searching for some illness within her.

Her aunt was still discussing it with her friend now. She had talked of little else during their meal of microwaveable hamburgers (little Amy had stopped trying to remember whether she was eating lunch or dinner). Of course, she was supposed to be in bed, but Amelia was obstinate. That, and she couldn't stop thinking about the black, blank sky outdoors. There was something missing, and she was certain that she was right and that her aunt was wrong. Even if it wasn't stars, there was _something_ that belonged up there. Something that wasn't there now.

The letter-slot in the door clanged open and shut, and a silhouette scuttled away from the door. Getting to her feet, Amy crept to the door. Frowning, she scooped up the piece of paper that had fallen on the floor.

"Come along, Pond."

* * *

_ It's in those moments that people try to find a source of light. Darkness seems unnatural. There is something unnerving, frightening, about its oppressive presence. It grows, spreading out and staining whatever it can reach._

"RUN!"

Donna was running. She couldn't remember a time when she had run faster in her life. Behind her, she could hear the fizzing as the library lights went out, one by one. She didn't have to glance over her shoulder to see the swiftly growing shadows. They seemed to be chasing them.

_Creatures of light aren't wanted here,_ it seemed to say. It was claiming land for its own, and it would soon claim her, as well.

If it weren't for the Doctor's hand securely wrapped around hers, she would've been too frightened to run.

* * *

_As the darkness creeps along, hope seems to fade. Let's face it; people are more frightened in the dark. They're less rational; they can't think straight. In the books and movies, darkness is equated with deception, fear, evil things. And this is to be expected, because in many ways, this is merely a reflection of reality, of how that which is wicked is clouded, dimmed, blackened._

The boy curled into the smallest ball possible. His hands were clamped over his ears; his eyes were shut tight. His breath sounded loud to him. He shivered in his striped pajamas; he was aware of the tiniest noise. The room around him, so cheery in the daytime, was now a realm of nightmares. His curtains swayed back and forth without a wind, whispering. His bedside table rattled, and the pictures rocked on the walls. The banging, rattling "whoosh" of the lift his mother took to work blasted through the silence. Trying to suppress a scream, the small boy dove under the covers. Just as quickly, he jerked his head up again. What if he fell asleep? What if his pillows and blanket suffocated him? What if the unseen terrors crept out of his closet if he dared close his eyes, even for a second? What if…what if…what if...

"Please save me from the monsters," he whispered in a cracked voice, "save me from the monsters, save me from the monsters…."

Little did he know that, at that moment, a billion years and countless miles away, someone was reading his plea.

* * *

_Even so, even in the dark, there should be no reason for fear. Yes, it can hide an unseen terror. Yes, it can carry with it an unpleasant omen of future days of black. But nothing, not even darkness, can last forever._

"The stars are going out."

A girl with blond hair stood outside, staring at the sky. Small pinpricks of light danced above her, but in between them, voids of black stretched empty. She hugged her arms around her body, listening to the soft whisper of the wind. It was a chilly night, and the added emptiness of the sky added to the cold that caused her to shiver.

She had noticed it a while ago. One by one, stars went out like candles, constellations vanished overnight. Sure, they had the charts and illustrations, but they were nothing compared to the real thing.

Rose sighed, her eyes fixed on the sky. If only _he_ were here, she found herself wishing. _He_ would know what to do. _He_ had always brought light with him, even though he hardly knew it himself.

The girl straightened, hands falling to her sides. An unyielding, determined expression fixed on her face, she turned to the building behind her.

If _he _couldn't come to her, _she_ would go to him.

* * *

_The books and movies have spun it out for people again and again. Whenever the scene is at its darkest, when it seems that the story would end there, when darkness seems to be the victor, a bearer of light appears. Usually, it's the most unlikely character. Often, they themselves are unaware of how important and hopeful their role is to a despairing people._

_ Often, they feel unworthy of the task that is assigned to them._

"Don't mind me."

Nancy and the children gasped. The clatter of dishes and silverware ceased. The man in the leather jacket kept grinning, helping himself to two large pieces of turkey. He glanced around the table, eyes flashing with a bright light. Despite the initial surprise and suspicion, Nancy didn't necessarily feel threatened by the stranger. He made no move to do them any harm; he reached across the table for the gravy, talking cheerfully as he did so.

Little did she know that this big-nosed guest was going to save her child, and that she would receive from his friend the staggering news that the black skies weren't going to be there forever. A day would come, the blond woman assured her, when bombs wouldn't fall, children wouldn't be terrified and hungry, and gas-masks and this war would be an event of the past.

* * *

_ These stories are all pointing towards a fact of reality. When darkness approaches, when night has seemed to claim the world as its own, many are frightened, angry, confused. But others continue to smile, and look skyward with hope. They know that nighttime has to end with morning. They know that darkness only means that a brighter light is coming to chase it away._

_ When bringers of darkness rise, it's only a matter of time before the bearers of light rebel._

* * *

**Well…that sort of deviated from the whole concept of a "blackout"…at least, a literal one. I guess I turned it into a sort of metaphorical blackout (with the exception of the first one; there was literally no light going on in the sky).**

**So…I guess enjoy and all that whatnot, and I'll be posting soon (I hope).**

**But before I do, I have one more question: who out there has been watching **_**Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.**_** on abc? If you have, who's your favorite character? Least favorite (coughWardcough)? How about last week? And are you psyched for tonight (I know I am!)?**


	3. Prompt 5: Sick

**Hey, guys! In case anyone is interested, I wrote this while listening to "My Immortal" by Evanesence. It's a beautiful song, and there's nothing bad in it. It 's great to write sad stuff to. Just thought I'd let you guys know.**

**God bless and have a great day (or night)!**

* * *

**Writing Prompt #5: Sick**

**Characters: **10th Doctor, Rose, mentions of Martha and Donna

**Shippings: **implied 10/Rose

**Genre: **hurt/loss/angst

**Rating:** K

* * *

Could someone help? Could anyone hear? There was nothing, not anymore. The universe began to fade and crack around him.

White walls haunted his dreams. Every night, he'd wake, thrashing, screaming, silent tears leaving stains on his cheeks. It should've been him. He should've thrown himself into the void; the coward.

_They all died…and the __**coward**__ survived._

How could he move on? How could humans take this sort of pain in their short lives? He was filled to bursting; how could time fix him?

_The real Doctor, the __**proper Doctor**__, he wouldn't lie there. He'd save us._

* * *

He left her room untouched. He didn't bear to open the door, to look at her belongings. The shirt had been thrown in after Donna had left the TARDIS. He slammed the door, shaking the whole hallway. His mouth was closed and tight; silence emanated from his being. Even the familiar groan of the TARDIS engine seemed more like a song of mourning now.

_Rose, Rose. She who saved the lost child,_

_She who destroyed the great enemy,_

_She who brought hope and healing to the wounded, the desperate._

_She who shed light on the darkest of hearts,_

_She who didn't shy in the face of destruction,_

_She who warded off the oncoming storm;_

_A flower sprouting in a desolate waste,_

_Bringing beauty to the barren nothingness._

_The hero to a victorious coward._

* * *

They would ask. Martha asked, searching his face for some sign. Donna asked, probing him accusingly, then questioning fondly. He never said more than what was necessary. Talking only made it hurt. Burying it burned, but what could he do? Better to suffer alone than to tear the world up with all of his misery.

* * *

"_Two universes would collapse."_

_She grinned in spite of herself. "So?"_

So? Why not? His hand would hover over the switches at night, when sleep wouldn't come (or when he didn't want to face the dark behind closed eyelids; a dark without stars). Every time, he would hold back. If not for the sake of the universe, if not for the sake of unforgiving fate, if not for the sake of a slightly cleared conscience, it was for the sake of the other person on the ship with him. Their life was cradled in his hands, just like Rose before them. In a way, it was like a legacy. It was something he could do in her name, something to help him carry on.

She wouldn't want him to stay like this, he knew. Wouldn't want him to teeter on the brink of death and insanity, simply because he could never see her again.

Donna had seen what the insanity could do to him; what could happen when he allowed anger and despair to engulf him. Doused with water, flames flickering around his feet, his face an unreadable mask, hiding a void of unending cold and darkness.

_Rose._

The name that had kept him fighting. The name that had kept him pure. Now he would stumble along as best as he could, trying to find his own way. But like a ship sailing away from the lighthouse and into the waters of the storm, it got harder and harder to remember the light.

* * *

_Doctor? What are you doing up?_

He scrubbed his worn face with his hands. He had fallen asleep on the couch next to the TARDIS consul. His mallet had fallen to the floor, wires and bits of metal littered the ground.

_Another nightmare?_

_He stood up, and she walked over to him, rubbing the drowsiness from her own eyes-_

He slammed a switch on the TARDIS, sending a brief stab of pain up his arm. The ship jerked.

_Hold steady! She yelled, nearly falling over. He reached out his hand to grab her, hold her up on her feet-_

His hand gripped the cold, unyielding metal of the banister. The TARDIS rocked back and forth, the engine wheezed.

_She steadied herself against the couch, beaming. She began laughing, and he grinned before he also began chuckling._

Gritting his teeth, he ran around to the consul screen. He began pushing buttons, the Gallifreyan words spinning and twirling faster than what he could read.

_She peered over his shoulder, leaning up against him._

"_Where to?" she asked, her voice mounting with excitement. She didn't sound tired at all, despite the fact that it was the middle of the night._

_She reached out for his hand, wrapping it securely in hers. He looked right into her greenish-brown eyes._

"_Anywhere," he whispered._

"Anywhere," he muttered, staring at his empty, clenched fist. He glanced back at the controls; reaching forward, he pushed some more buttons, trying to ignore the lump in his throat, his burning eyes.

"Anywhere but you."

* * *

**Looking back on this, it seemed sort of rambly. Like, there were a bunch of little one-shots that I rolled up into one. They don't seem to be following any sort of pattern. *shrugs*. Oh, well. Hope you guys enjoy it anyway.**

**Sometimes I wonder why I even liked this show in the first place. It's such a sad show, but it's so beautiful and wonderful at the same time. There are such powerful messages behind the show that I haven't seen in many other shows or movies.**

**Anyhoo, enjoy the angst. Rose/Doctor is my favorite shipping.**

**EDIT: I MADE ROSE'S EYES THE WRONG COLOR. DON'T WORRY; I FIXED IT.**


	4. Prompt 87: Gender Swap

**Hey, all!**

**Firstly, thank you to those new followers/reviewers! I can't tell you how much I enjoy reading the positive feedback! Constructive criticism is also greatly appreciated.**

**Anyhoo, before the story (I've had this idea for a while now), I wanted to make a quick note: I don't support gender swap. I don't find it particularly attracting, and I don't plan on doing it a lot.**

**HOWEVER…when my sister and I were randomly making up entertaining Doctor Who scenarios, this little idea came to the forefront. And I couldn't help but laugh when I envisioned how this meeting and the events after it would play out. So, yeah. That's my little rant; now, onto the one-shot!**

**God bless and have a great day (or night)!**

* * *

**Writing Prompt #87: Gender Swap**

**Characters: **

Genderbent: 10th Doctor, Rose (Ross) Tyler, Mickey (Nicky) Smith, "CJ" Jack Harkness ("Jack" is short for something…maybe Jackie, or something like that)

Regular gender: 10th Doctor, Rose Tyler, Mickey (Rickey) Smith, Jack Harkness

**Shippings: ** implied 10/Rose, Jack/everyone

**Genre: **Humor

**Rating: **K+ (simply because of the genderbending; the story itself is clean and doesn't have any super intense moments)

* * *

_In an alternate reality…_

The Doctor peeked out from behind a metal wall. The shuddering crashes of the monster's feet slamming against the ground were growing fainter. Breathing a sigh of relief, the Doctor allowed herself a moment to get somewhat collected. Reaching into one of the (insanely) deep pockets on her blue vest (she loved the blue vest…weeeell, now that she thought about it, she only ever seemed to be wearing one of two outfits. Was that enough for her to honestly say that she really happened to like one? And it wasn't as if she _didn't_ like the other one. She really did…wait; rambling. Again. Back to the point).

_Anyway…_Reaching into the pocket of her blue vest, the Doctor pushed the brown hair out of her eyes and examined the map. Fortunately, they had managed to keep the monster trapped within the basement of the huge warehouse. Unfortunately, this wasn't a monster to accept a second chance (or do any communicating whatsoever), which meant that it was up to the Doctor and her faithful companions to save the day. Speaking of which…

Glancing around her, the Doctor peered from behind the wall, focusing on a large stack of canisters. A blond head appeared for a moment, then ducked back. After several seconds, a figure dashed across the open space between the canisters and the wall.

"You made it!" the Doctor beamed. The newcomer heaved and slid into a sitting position.

"This is such a stupid idea" he muttered, brushing the blond hair from his face.

"Oh, come on Ross!" the Doctor mocked hurt. "You're loving this. How could you still be with me if you didn't love this?"

"Maybe it's 'cause I'm an idiot," the teenage boy responded, looking up at the Doctor. For a moment, the two locked eyes. In that moment, their gazes grew fonder; Ross grinned, the Doctor felt a blush creeping up her face.

"Anyway," she began, handing Ross the map. Digging into another pocket, she brought out her sonic screwdriver. Instead of pointing it at anything, though, she brought it back behind her head. Grabbing a handful of hair, she gave an expert twist. In a few seconds, she had completed a pencil-ponytail (minus the pencil). Bangs and fly-aways stuck out everywhere, but she didn't seem to mind.

"Righty, then," she mused, taking the map back and looking at it. "According to this, and the plan, Nicky should be right over…" she spun around, trying to find an exact location. "There!" she exclaimed loudly. Very loudly. From somewhere in the room, the beast bellowed.

"And CJ…" the Doctor whispered hoarsely, "she should be right ooooooooover…there. On that pile of crates, ready to distract the monster. Unless, of course, she happens to be flirting with anyone." The Doctor stared at the crates, willing the fourth member of their party to appear. If they all died and it was her fault, well, then; the Doctor didn't know what she'd do, but it would be something bad.

"Come on, CJ," she hissed. "Where are you?!"

* * *

_ In the real reality of Doctor Who…_

The four-member TARDIS team was taking a breather. And could anyone blame them? They had just finished another successful mission, which had involved, among other things, the trapping and killing of a huge beast inside an abandoned warehouse. The warehouse had been lying on the outer edge of a huge company, which received many visitors every day (the company, not the warehouse). It was the usual; monster on the loose, threatening countless innocent people (weeell, maybe not countless, but they didn't have time to count while they were there). Rose and Mickey wandering off and getting almost killed, Jack flirting with everyone (and everything), and the Doctor being the heroic one, saving the rest of his team and the world (OK; maybe he was exaggerating his role a _tad_). There had been overbearing assistances (sorry; _Lego Movie_ reference), and a CEO that had nearly gotten them all incarcerated. Three times. And on top of all that, Jack had nearly gotten the rest of his team killed when he chose to woo a black-cloaked employee instead of making sure the Doctor, Rose, and Mickey weren't in a life-or-death situation (which they were…thanks Jack).

In the end, though, they had all gotten out alive, and the CEO had apologized (albeit begrudgingly), mostly because the warehouse wouldn't have to pay for any damage (the warehouse was the only thing that had been destroyed, surprisingly).

Now here they were, taking time to relax and unwind on the TARDIS. Mickey and Rose were sitting together on the couch next to the consul, the Doctor was leaning against the consul itself, arms and legs crossed, his brown pinstripe suit full of creases. Jack was sitting on the floor, reclining against the banister. He was recounting an adventure that he had experienced about 200 years from the time they were in at that moment. The captain was so enthusiastic, flinging his arms around, his face contorting into a million different expressions, and the story itself was so humorous, that Mickey and Rose were reduced to breathless gasps of laughter. The Doctor had kept himself from getting into the story at first (he was slightly miffed that Jack had nearly been the cause of his death), but when Jack finished retelling the account of an escapade involving a traveling circus being infiltrated by a deadly escaped convict, he couldn't help but chuckle.

Jack was stating up another tale when the TARDIS door burst open. Captain Jack stopped in mid-sentence, Rose and Mickey nearly fell off the chair, and the Doctor stiffened. All four turned simultaneously in the direction of approaching footsteps. Booted steps clunked loudly, quickly on the metal grating. A loud clatter rang through the ship as something heavy (and also metal) fell onto the floor. A figure stood in front of the clear cylinder of the consul, taking deep breaths. After a moment of utter silence, the Doctor peered around the cylinder, trying to get a good look at the newcomer.

Her back was turned to him as she faced the door. But she was a girl; that much he knew right off. Dark brown hair fell to mid-back. A short, sturdy build, wearing black boots, pants, and a blue jacket. The thing that had fallen was a blaster of some kind (looking not unlike the very blaster that Jack had used while they had been chasing the monster). Turning towards the consul, the Doctor got to see her face. The skin was tanned, the lips bright red. Her eyes were dark, and sparked with mischievousness. Pulling what looked like a walkie-talkie out of a coat pocket, she brought it to her mouth.

"This is CJ calling in," she stated. "I'm in the TARDIS. What's the next move, boss?" She frowned when nothing but static answered her question.

"CJ…this is CJ," she tried again. "Doc, can you hear me?"

Again, there was no response.

"This is so cheap," she muttered, "then again, serves me right. Never trust an Alivinon. Then again, they were pretty good kissers," she closed her eyes, grinning at the memory. Rose took this moment to clear her throat.

"Hello," she started.

Before Rose could get the word out of her mouth, the girl had reached down, picked up the weapon, sidestepped around the consul, and was aiming the blaster at the four of them.

"Alright, no one make a move," she said smoothly, still smiling. But there was nothing friendly about the look in her eye. One by one, the Doctor, Rose, Mickey, and Jack raised their hands in the air.

"We're friends," Mickey started.

"Shut it," the stranger commanded with her powerful voice. Mickey promptly shut up.

"But he's right," Rose attempted. "We're not doin' any harm; who are you and how'd you get on the TARDIS?"

"Maybe we can help," Jack suggested. The Doctor shot him a look.

"Stop it," he snapped. The woman paused, then swung the barrel of the gun in the Doctor's direction.

"Say that again," she demanded. The Doctor blinked.

"Say what?" he asked.

"What you just said," she prodded, "tell him to stop it. Exactly the way you said it."

"Stop it," the Doctor repeated, glowering at Jack. The girl examined him disbelievingly.

"Doctor?" she breathed.

"Yes…" the Doctor responded. For the second time, the gun fell to the ground. The woman staggered back. Turning her back to them, she muttered to herself. The other four glanced at each other, listening to her ramble to herself and push buttons on some device. Finally she turned, slowly. She looked at each of them, then walked up to Rose.

"Ross?"

"No; it's Rose," Rose corrected. "Rose Tyler. And that's Mickey."

"Not Nicky, then," the woman said.

"No; that's a girl's name," Mickey scoffed. "And last time I checked, I'm not a girl."

"You certainly are not," she agreed, nodding. Then she smirked. "A male Doctor and Mickey; oh, you don't want to know what I'm thinking right now," she turned around, hands on her hips. She surveyed her surroundings; her eyes fell on Jack, who was now standing up.

"You can mean only one thing," she said, walking over to him. As she did, the Doctor noticed the way she walked. It reminded him of something. That, and the grin she flashed at him as she flounced past caused his stomach to flop. And then she went to Jack, _stood right in front of Jack Harkness,_ and he knew. Oh, he knew. And judging by the look on the captain's face, the Doctor had a horrible sensation that Jack knew, too.

"Hey, there," she chuckled, taking his hand in a firm handshake. "I'm Captain Jack Harkness."

Rose and Mickey stood in mute shock and confusion. Jack himself seemed baffled, but the confusion cleared as he fully realized what was happening. He smiled, eyes flashing.

"Nice to meet you, Jack," he responded warmly (_too warmly_, the Doctor thought miserably), "I'm Captain Jack Harkness."

"Two Jacks…?" Rose looked to the Doctor for an explanation. However, the Time Lord was too busy burying his face in his hands and despairing about his future to take note of Rose.

"I don't know how it happened," the female Jack said, shrugging. "One moment, I'm with the Doctor, Ross, and Nicky; next thing I know, I'm in a TARDIS in a completely different reality. But I can tell you right now; I'm not regretting this one bit." She grinned at her male counterpart.

"Noooo…" the Doctor moaned. "This is too much…"

"Can she come with us, Doctor?" Jack asked eagerly, beaming at his friend's discomfort. "She and I can share a room. You probably won't see us much, and she won't cause much trouble."

The Doctor jerked his head up and glared at the two Jacks.

"No," he lashed. "_You_ cause enough trouble by yourself. I'm not going to allow _two_ of you, especially if one's a female, to go rampaging around the universe. And that's final!" With that, the Doctor turned to the TARDIS controls, a determined look on his face. Rose looked from him to the two Jacks, still busy flirting with each other. The Doctor had a point; this could definitely awkward, to say the least. Still, she couldn't help but smile at her friend's misfortune.

"Poor Doctor," she speculated, "it had to be you. It had to happen to you."

* * *

**So, yeah. That actually turned out being much longer than what I anticipated. To those who managed to get through to the ending, congrats!**

**Also, I'm not sure if female!Jack will be coming back in later stories. I might consider it, depending on what the one-shot happens to be about. **


	5. Writing Prompt 3: Stuck in an Elevator

**Hey, everyone!**

**OK…I'm not sure where I should even go with this prompt. See, I have a list of 100 writing prompts, and I had my sista' choose one for me. Turns out, I got a completely random one. It made me think of Amy and Rory, it made my sister think about Clint and Captain America; in short, I'm sitting in front of the computer screen just thinking,**

"**Darn."**

**Welp, we'll see where this thing goes.**

***flexes fingers***

**Let's do this.**

**God bless and have a great day (or night)!**

* * *

**Writing Prompt #3: Stuck in an Elevator Shaft (or a Lift Shaft, since that's what everyone on the show calls it)**

**Characters: **9th, 10th, and 11th Doctors, Rose, Amy, Rory, George, Manikins, Jack, Lynda-with-a-y

**Genre: **Adventure/Humor

**Rating: **K

* * *

The Doctor rode on elevators a lot, in case that wasn't already obvious from the show. It was stairs or elevators. Seriously, why did every villain feel a need to attack a multiple-story building? It made things slightly more complicated and time-consuming.

Still, the Doctor was never able to bring up this point, since the offender was usually some power/revenge/human/war/you-name-the-reason-hungry monster who was intent on laying waste to all of humanity or some planet.

Luckily for him, the elevators always seemed to work, which was terribly convenient for him and his companions. But what if an elevator did stop during his adventures?

* * *

_"Rose" _

_ Scene where the Doctor pulls off the manikin's arm as the elevator closes._

The Doctor raced over to the lift, the blond-haired girl being dragged behind him. Pushing the button on the elevator panel, he forced her in as soon as the doors opened. He entered himself, glancing over his shoulder. The manikins were coming faster now; they were nearly on top of him. Reaching out, he grabbed the arm of the nearest manikin and yanked it off. The doors shut right before the others could get to them. The lift began to race downwards, the buttons flashing as they passed floors. The two figures stood silently inside the elevator, neither having anything to say.

A loud screech, a grumble, and the lift halted. There was moment of quiet. The Doctor glanced around, frowning.

"Why've we stopped?" he finally asked.

"The elevator must be jammed," Rose answered, pressing several buttons on the panel.

"Oh," the Doctor pulled a blinking device out of his pocket and looked at it. "Darn."

"What is that?" Rose questioned.

"A bomb," he replied nonchalantly, pointing his sonic screwdriver at it. It buzzed loudly, and the device stopped blinking.

"What's that?" Rose asked again.

"A sonic screwdriver," he said, tossing it to her. "You can look at it if you want to. Just don't push any buttons."

Meanwhile, the manikins got tired of standing outside the lift doors, and they proceeded to leave the building. They emerged on the streets, and began to lay waste to humanity. The Doctor would stop them eventually (maybe); they might as well complete as much destruction as they could.

* * *

_"Bad Wolf"_

_ Scene where Jack and the Doctor are trying to reach Rose before the "Weakest Link" gameshow host can shoot her "dead"._

"Come on!" the Doctor hissed. The floor numbers flashed and changed at an impossible speed. He was growing frantic. Time had seemed to slow to a crawl, despite his keen and nearly impeccable sense of its passing. Jack stood solid and silent in the lift next to him.

There was a loud squeal, and the elevator stopped so quickly that the two were thrown up to the ceiling and crashed to the floor. Standing up, they dusted themselves off. The lift was motionless.

"Really?!" the Doctor yelled, kicking a wall. Jack tried pushing some buttons. When that didn't produce any change, he shrugged, pointed his blaster at the roof, and shot several holes into the ceiling.

"I'll give you a boost, Shorty," he suggested, leaning down. The Doctor glowered at him, but stepped forward quickly. He would yell at Jack later. Using Jack's hand as support, the Doctor reached up and began tearing down bits of roof. Lynda-with-a-y ducked to avoid falling debris.

When they finally reached the "Weakest Link" gamestation, Rose had already been "blasted", and the winner was doing a victory dance. The workers were trying to clear up and get ready for the next session. Fortunately, Jack and the Doctor were good at getting what they wanted, and they gathered the information they needed anyway.

* * *

_"New Earth"_

_ Scene where Rose was sent down to where Cassandra was, while the Doctor goes up to see the Face of Boe._

"Look out for the disinfect-, oh, nevermind." The Doctor stopped trying to get the message across to his companion. He stepped back, facing the doors, waiting for the process to begin. He grinned as the water sprayed through the lift. He took the time to scrub his hair (it was the first time he had scrubbed his new hair!) and face.

Rose, on the other hand, wasn't so pleased with the disinfecting process. She tried to block the water and blasts of air, coughing when the air was filled with a white powder. Finally, when it seemed as if it was ending, the elevator halted. She paused, waiting for the doors to open. When they didn't, she tried pushing some buttons.

"Hey! I'm stuck!" she shouted, banging on the door.

Downstairs, Cassandra was waiting impatiently for the return of Chip and Rose.

"What's taking him so long?" she fumed.

In the end, Rose was discovered after the Doctor inquired about her to the cat/nun/nurse. Cassandra died, and the Doctor and Rose were left to finding out the problem with the hospital themselves. True, it took them a bit longer, but Chip was surprisingly easy to persuade. In the end, they got him to help them, and they dropped him off in a nice part of New New New New New New New New New New New New New New New New York afterwards.

* * *

_ "Night Terrors"_

_ Scene where Amy and Rory are being sent down the lift to the creepy dollhouse. Somehow._

One minute, they were standing inside the lift, talking over their next move. The next, they were being shot downwards at what felt like a hundred miles per hour. They were going so fast that they were actually rising off of the ground. Amy screamed, and Rory yelled and tried to grab hold of her. Just as quickly as it had started, the elevator stopped. They slammed against the roof, and fell to the ground with a loud thump.

"You OK, Amy?" Rory asked, his breath shaky and his heart pounding loudly.

"Yeah; I guess," his wife responded breathlessly. "What the heck was that all about?!" she yelled, slamming against the door. Rory tried pushing some buttons.

"We're stuck," he stated.

"Hooray!" Amy threw her hands up in the air. "I don't know what sort of moron planned this, but THIS ISN'T FUNNY!" She kicked the door and skipped backwards, holding onto her foot.

Meanwhile, the Doctor sat inside George's room, twiddling his thumbs.

"I can't help but feel," he said finally, to no one in particular, "that something has just happened to the space-time-continuum of this adventure." He looked over at George. "So, terrors in the cupboard, eh? I'm sure Amy and Rory will get here eventually."

* * *

_**Bonus scene (requested by the sista'):**_

_ "Voyage of the Damned"_

_ The scene where the Doctor is being lifted up by the Host and flown to the main deck area-place. You know, where Alonzo was._

With a snap of his fingers, the Doctor had a host on his right and left sides. Linking arms with him, the metal angels began to ascend, slowly at first, but gaining speed as they did so. Raising their free arms into the air, they clenched them into fists, ready to smash through any debris above them. The Doctor looked upward, the air rushing past him, his face set.

After several dramatic seconds of this, the hosts began shaking. They slowed drastically, and finally came to a standstill. They were still in the air, but they weren't moving anywhere. The Doctor looked around confusedly. Then annoyance and aggravation crept into his face.

"Come on! Really?!" He swung his legs back and forth, trying to get the robotic angels to move again.

* * *

** That was random. I hope it was funny (if not, then I'm sorry for wasting your time). I know that there are probably a lot more elevator scenes, but these were the ones that came to mind as I wrote. If you all can think of any others, let me know which episodes and scenes they were from, and maybe I'll make a "part 2".**


	6. Prompt 65: Monster for a Day

**I know it's been a while, but I was typing my first multiple-chapter Doctor Who story. It's called "Room Service", if anyone out there is interested, and it will be updated every Saturday. :)**

**Thanks to you new reviewers and/or followers! **

**This chapter has been prompted by ****ThatBigBlueBox****.**

_**UPDATE: YES, I WILL TAKE PROMPTS FROM PEOPLE. It could be a sentence, a scenario, one word…I'm not too particular. However, I may or may not do one depending on what the prompt is about. I will not do anything above K+, and if I end up not doing yours, sorry. I'm sort of nick-picky when it comes to shippings/content/language/ect. I will try to explain why I didn't choose one. Even if I reject one of yours, you can always ask me about a new one.**_

**Anyhoo, onto the one-shot!**

* * *

**Writing Prompt #65: Monster for a Day**

**Characters: **War Doctor, 9th Doctor

**Genre: **hurt/angst

**Rating: **K+, perhaps mild T (more serious theme, mentioning the Time War)

**Prompted by: **ThatBigBlueBox

* * *

_The Moment is coming…I am the Moment…the Moment is here…_

There was gold light; he could remember that much.

_Are you sure?...I was sure when I came here…_

Pain. There was a lot of pain, too.

_It is the privilege of lesser men to light the flame…_

_ Well, you did ask for a big red button._

Memories (maybe?), thoughts spinning and swirling, vanishing in a haze of light and regeneration energy.

_I have no intention of surviving this._

Was he regenerating? Why…

Why was he regenerating?

_That's your punishment._

It was explosive, this regeneration. It was so much more powerful than the ones before. A huge flash, raw energy coursing through his body as his dying cells were replaced by new ones. Then it was over.

He teetered on unsteady legs, flexing arms, wiggling fingers. The TARDIS hummed loudly, reaching out to his new (not new; changed) mind, trying to establish a connection.

Why was he on the TARDIS?

Legs like jelly, he stumbled blindly to the wooden doors. His hands shook as he rattled the handles (they were younger-looking hands, strong and without wrinkles). With a fierce strength that only came with the first few hours of post-regeneration, he flung the doors wide open. Gripping the flimsy doorframe, he leaned out, panting with the effort, perspiration standing out on his face.

He was staring into an empty patch of space. Stars around him, pin-pricks of light a quadrillion miles away were exploding and dying and glowing and singing. He gasped for air, golden mist flowing from his open mouth and vanishing in the cold darkness.

_Arcadia has fallen!_

_ I'm going to need your gun…_

His mind pounded and reeled. He knew what it was telling him, but he didn't want it to be true. According to every particle of his being, every nerve, his brilliant, clever mind that could sense the turn of the universe under his feet…_everything he was _told him was his heart was refusing to accept. That in that patch of space, there should be a planet. A spinning planet of red and gold, with children laughing and playing, people fighting and dying, surrounded by a fortress of strength and ingenuity, unsurpassed by any species before or after.

But what his mind screamed, his eyes saw, his hearts denied.

_No more Daleks…no more Time Lords…I could do that, you know._

There was nothing but a patch of dark, cold, lifeless space. Rubble from the Dalek ships floated among the dying stars. Nothing..._nothing_ could have survived The Moment.

Wasn't that what he wanted?

_No more…no more…no more…_

He had a sudden urge to fling himself out. To finish the job he had started; end the war. But as he stood, leaning his whole upper body over the edge of the universe, he knew he wouldn't. Coward. That's what he was.

_And now for my next trick!_

_ You know the sound the TARDIS makes?_

_ This time…you don't have to do it –_

_ Hello! I'm looking for…_

Pain shot through him; he stumbled backwards, clutching his head. It throbbed, memories flashing past him, time writing, undoing, re-writing itself.

_The Time War ends…._

_ NO MORE!_

As suddenly as it had come, the pain stopped. He straightened up slowly. Whatever his mind had trouble processing was gone. No more.

He eased himself into the chair next to the TARDIS consul (the chair was new; the TARDIS had changed herself for this new Doctor), staring at the glowing cylinder. He felt numb, like everything that had just happened was a dream and he would wake up soon. Or like watching an event from the sidelines, instead of being directly involved in any of it. But the cold would thaw. The momentary lull would give way to such a storm that the world would be torn in its wake.

With a fierce determination, he flung himself from the couch. Buttons wacked, dials spun; the TARDIS engine wheezed to life. There was nothing he wanted more right now than to run. Run and never look back. Run away from the storm that was coming; run from the emotions that were welling within him, forcing their way through his cold facts.

The Time War was over.

The Daleks were dead.

His people were dead.

He was the last.

With the storm came the fury. Tearing at him was the anger, frustration, rage, despair, and hopelessness. And with the storm came sleep; sleep that ended with blood and darkness and dying stars and Daleks falling from the sky like hail. And with the waking came only dread. How many times did he repeat this cycle before a small thought came to mind? Before the faint memories of a tiny planet nagged his subconscious, bringing with it fond voices and laughter? But these were memories of the Doctor, not the monster who brooded in his small box; all that was left of his people.

But when he touched the controls again, they were gentle caresses. Instead of scratchy yells from a voice hoarse from screaming, he crooned and whispered to his ship. The TARDIS hummed softly in response, sounding more like a song than the droning of an insect. He pulled down on the levers, directing his blue box towards Earth. A young body with old eyes. The light and life he had before were gone, but he longed to see a face. Something that was familiar to him.

And when he stepped out, he was in London. Springy green grass underfoot, a blue sky overhead. Children were laughing and playing, people doing ordinary things and living beautifully ordinary lives. Dressed in black, he moved among them, looking hungrily at the world he had entered. This was the Doctor's world, a world he couldn't touch.

But he was content with looking for now. Maybe a small skirmish to end, a crisis to avert. Then back to stars. For now, though, he could move silently, unseen through this little world. When people didn't know him, how could they possibly tell that he was a monster?

* * *

**This was a bit longer than I intended it to be originally, but stuff kept coming to my mind, and this is what happened. Anyhoo, I hope you guys enjoyed it (especially ****ThatBigBlueBox)****!**


	7. Prompt 90: Personality Switch

**Hey, all!**

**TenToo is so much fun to write to! I love him to bits! There will definitely be more of TenToo and Rose in later chapters!**

**Also, for those who have never seen it, look up "David Tennant and Catherine Tate sketch" on youtube or pinterest. On Pinterest, you can even type in "I aint even bovvered", and it will still pop up! This chapter uses stuff from that skit, so look it up if you haven't seen it already. It's funny and completely clean. :) **

**God bless and have a great day (or night)!  
ThePro-LifeCatholic**

* * *

**Writing Prompt #90: Personality Switch**

**Characters: **TenToo (Rose's alternate-reality Doctor), Rose Tyler, Pete Tyler, random alternate-reality-Torchwood members

**Genre: **Humor

**Rating: **K

* * *

It took some time for TenToo (also simply called "Doctor" by everyone in that reality) to adjust to being part-human. His entire biological makeup was changed; it clashed with everything his memories told him. Still, he supposed that there could've been worse ways to come out of such a drastic change like that. He could've had no head, or arms! He could've turned into a woman (on account of Donna touching him)…speaking of which…

There was a Donna-streak in him. No matter how much he or anyone else tried to deny or ignore it, there was a part of his personality which was Donna to the core. And even worse, neither he nor anyone else was able to control or predict it. More often than not, it seemed to happen whenever someone was being stupid, very annoying, insulting, or overbearingly sassy. At some random points in time, it would simply _happen._ He wasn't exactly sure what triggered it, but it _did_ get triggered from time to time. And when that happened, it was as if he had changed into another person.

After the first few "Donna-episodes", Rose could identify tell-tale signs of these unusual fits. Feet planted firmly apart, his hands on his hips or crossed over his chest, his eyebrows nearly touching his hairline. His mouth would form a nearly perfect "o", and the words he said dropped from his mouth and shattered on the floor like glass cups. He would also wobble his head and make emphatic hand gestures. Even his voice seemed to be slightly altered, becoming deeper, more throaty. Fortunately, the quick cure was usually a smack in the face. Then his personality would switch back to bouncy Doctor, and he would thank whoever had smacked him. Other times (it usually depended on how stupid/insulting/sassy the other person was being), it took a bit more than a slap, or nothing at all, to cure him. During these times, there was nothing to do but wait it out.

For the most part, these episodes played out around the Tyler family, which was fine. Some had taken place in Torchwood, but everyone there respected the Doctor, and they were usually pretty quiet about it.

However, when several head members of Torchwood's international branches (this organization was spreading throughout the world rapidly) arrived in London to partake in a meeting, things got out-of-hand very quickly.

* * *

"I don't believe anyone here has the right to deal with aliens that way," Pete Tyler was saying. "If they're not posing a threat to our planet, then what reason would we have to shoot them out of the sky? Because they're flying a bit too close to the atmosphere? Because they're blocking our view of the stars for a couple nights?"

"This isn't a matter to joke about," a woman replied. Her name was Mrs. Windon, the official representative of America's Torchwood. "An invading species doesn't give warnings or clues before they attack. Look at what happened with the cybermen. Who's to say that, in the future, a spacecraft overhead wasn't going to drop flesh-eating creatures on us?"

There were several murmurs of agreement from the small group. Rose, who was seated next to her father, glanced over at her husband. The Doctor was given special permission to listen in on the meeting by Pete. He usually squirmed and looked around during talks, but right now, he was sitting perfectly still. He had his head in one hand, the other hand drumming quietly on the tabletop.

"Face it, Mr. Tyler; most, if not all, alien life is dangerous and a threat to humanity. Ask your daughter. I'm sure she could name many alien invasions. However, I doubt she could name even five peaceful species." Mrs. Windon continued in a crisp voice, growing more powerful by the word. "In fact, I'd like to state my own personal opinion that _all_ forms are cruel, savage, human-hating creatures, and should be dealt with as such."

The Doctor tensed visibly. Both Pete and Rose shot a look in his direction. Mrs. Windon followed their gaze, realizing her mistake too late.

"Perhaps not all of them," she said after a moment's pause. The Doctor stopped tapping. Lifting his head slowly, he pushed his chair back, standing upright.

"No; that's fine," he said, even though it was obvious he wasn't. "In fact…" he trailed off, leaning forward. Lifting one hand, he pointed at his face. "Amist I abovvered?"

In the silence that followed, one could have heard a pin drop. The Doctor looked expectantly at Mrs. Windon for an answer.

"Excuse me?" she asked.

"Amist I abovvered?"

"Are you…?"

"Mrs. Windon, Mrs. Windon!" the Doctor interrupted her in mid-question. "Looketh at my face." He gestured at his expression. "Looketh at my face. Is this a bovvered face thou seest before you?"

Pete turned to his daughter, who was hiding her face in her hands.

"Windon, my face. Amist I abovvered? Face! Mad! Face! I aint even bovvered!"

"Yes, I understand," Mrs. Windon was looking quite flustered. "Now could we…"

"But I aint even bovvered!" The Doctor was on a roll now. He slammed his hands down on the table, hard. "Art thou disrespecting me? Art thou calling me a savage, war-hungry alien? Art thou calling my TARDIS a weapon of mass destruction?"

"Rose," Pete whispered loudly.

"Hey, Sweetie," Rose started, standing up.

"But she aint even a weapon, though. She aint even a weapon! Mrs. Windon, I be not mad forsooth. You take the slow road, I'll take the timey-wimey road. Sonic? Aliens? I aint even bovvered."

He turned, leaping up on his chair and flinging his arms out. "BITE ME, EARTH GIRL!" he roared.

"That's it." Rose stalked over to his chair, yanking him from his place and dragging him out of the room.

"Ood! Starwhales! Adipose! New Earth humanoids grown by cat nuns! Isolus!" The Doctor continued loudly. "There's your five peaceful species, Mrs. Windon! And I could on and on! Not sure if your 'peace-loving' humans would be part of that list, though!"

The door to the conference room shut, but his voice still carried through.

"I aint even bovvered, though! I aint even – OW!" The rant was brought to an abrupt end. There was a loud smacking sound, followed by the cry of shock, confusion, and pain. Then the doors opened, and Rose walked calmly to her place.

"Now," she said, sitting down. "Where were we?"

* * *

"You alright?"

Rose shut the door to the conference room and faced her husband. He was sitting on the far end of the hallway, next to the vending machine. The Doctor stood up, nibbling on a Rice Krispie treat and cradling a Sprite in his other hand.

"Yeah," he sniffed loudly and grinned. "Thanks for that. Did the meeting go well?"

Rose smiled. "Actually, it went better than Dad feared. Mrs. Windon didn't seem so adamant about aliens being 'war-hungry savages', and other people completely changed their views on how to treat other forms of life."

The Doctor sighed, visibly relieved. Then, with a wide smile, he raised his soda into the air.

"Thank you Donna!" he exclaimed.

"To Donna Noble," Rose agreed, laughing.


	8. Vacation at a Resort Hotel

**Yet another classic example of how my one-shot doesn't match the prompt. Maybe they started out with a vacation, and then a threat happened. Let's face it, that always happens when the Doctor tries to kick back.**

**NOTE: I WILL TAKE REQUESTS. Check out my past chapters for more info on that.**

**God bless and have a great day (or night)!**

**ThePro-LifeCatholic**

**Writing Prompt #13: Vacation at a Resort Hotel**

* * *

**Characters: **11th Doctor, Clara Oswin Oswald

**Genre: **Humor/Friendship

**Rating: **K

* * *

"What do you mean, you 'panicked'?"

Clara flung her arms out in a hopeless gesture.

"You should know not to let me do things like that under high pressure!"

The Doctor sighed, adjusting his bowtie. "All I asked was for you to give the lady at the front desk our names while I took our stuff to our rooms. Was that really such a momentous task? We were already registered! And we both know that one of the guests is a blood-sucking monster who hates me and anything associated with me. All you had to do was-"

"Give her our names, I know!" Clara finished. "But I'm not good at making up names on the spot. And the lady was looking at me. Don't you ever get that feeling that if you wait for too long, the person starts judging you? Like when you go to the store, and you're putting your extra change in your purse, but everyone in line and the cashier are watching and judging you?"

"Never."

Clara sighed loudly, trying to keep up with the Doctor's long strides. He turned down one corner and started to descend a set of stairs. The smooth, deep brown banister was polished and shiny; the steps themselves were springy to the step and covered in lush carpeting.

"Besides," the Doctor continued, "you got your made-up name perfect! How could you mess up on mine?"

"Well, I'm better at girl names!" Clara argued. "And when someone asks me to think of a boy name, the first one that comes to mind is Archie, because I see him all the time!"

By now they had reached the bottom of the stairs, and had crossed the hallway to the entrance of the dining room. A man in a black suit and bowtie stood at the door.

"Good evening, Sir and Madame," he said, nodding politely. "May I see your registration cards?"

"Yes, of course." The Doctor reached into one of his many bigger-on-the-inside pockets, and drew out the two small cards with a flourish.

"Party of two, sir. One Miss Clarissa Winson, and the other…" He trailed off, fingering his own card and staring darkly at the name printed on it. Clara flushed red and ducked her head, trying to hide a laugh behind her hand.

"…Mr. Archibald Wallace O'Halley," the Doctor finished, laboring painfully over the name.

"Very good, Sir." Even the door-greeter was smiling now.

Grabbing their cards back, "Archibald" took Clara's hand and ducked into the dining room.

"Next time," he hissed to his amused companion, "_I'm_ picking the names."


	9. Prompt 75: Rescue Mission

**Hey, all! I know it's been a bit, but I've been pretty busy these past few weeks. I haven't gotten **_**any**_** typing done whatsoever, and I'm leaving tomorrow for the whole weekend (or at least, most of it). So I thought that before I left, I'd at least update this one-shot story of mine. I have actually mental dictated three different potential one-shots to myself over the past few days (that's what happens when I can't get to a computer in time :P). This is the first of those. **

** Anyhoo, enough of my ranting. Thanks to all those who read and followed! Some reviews would be nice, too. Especially if you're thinking about requesting a one-shot (see my previous chapters for more info…it might actually be chapter 5 or 6…somewhere along those lines).**

**God bless and have a great day (or night)!  
ThePro-LifeCatholic**

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**I guess that now would also be the perfect time to make disclaimers: I don't own Doctor Who or any of the characters/trademarks of the show. I don't own the photo used for this story cover, and in my "Personality Switch" chapter, some parts of TenToo's speech was taken from a tumblr post that I saw on Pinterest. To the inventor of that timey-wimey speech goes the credit. If you ever read this, you know who you are, and your Doctor-twist on the Tennant and Tate skit is awesome. :)**

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**Writing Prompt #75: **_**Rescue Mission**_

**Characters:** Ninth Doctor, Rose Tyler, Bad Wolf, mentions of other Doctors

**Shippings: **Rose/Nine

**Genre: **Hurt/Comfort/Romance/Angst

**Rating: **K…K+-ish?

**Time Frame: **"Parting of Ways"

* * *

The TARDIS is thrown into the Time Vortex. Her doors slam shut; golden light illumines the interior of the ship.

Rose stands in the midst of it, the heart of the Doctor's ship intermingling, fusing to her being, her very soul. And she can see. Oh, she can _see_. And the light shines and she can hear music. Beautiful music that makes her want to cry and scream and sigh and stand still in perfect silence and laugh all at once. Two single tears of pain, anger, joy, and peace slip down the girl's face. They leave a trail of pale gold along her cheeks. And through the music, through the golden haze, a single thought stands out. A combined cry from the depth of Rose's soul and the TARDIS' heart:

_**My Doctor. My Doctor. My Doctor. My Doctor.**_

Over and over and over again, like a heart beating.

She feels the turn of the worlds.

She can sense the speed at which the TARDIS is traveling at that very second. How flimsy the wooden box feels compared to the might of the vortex.

Then the ship stops, and Rose knows exactly where and when she is. She has no need of a Doctor to tell her.

Her head is filled with voices, sights, and sounds from everywhere and anywhere. But she pushes past the loud clamor, and she can hear the voice of the Dalek Emperor. The words are lost to her from within in the box.

But then Rose hears the Doctor. _**Her Doctor.**_He whom she had come to save.

The TARDIS doors open of their own accord, and Rose is silhouetted against the light. Energy (golden and powerful and visible to everyone) emanates from her being. The Dalek Emperor is shocked.

Rose vaguely catches his confused cries, his sharp commands, his demands for explanation.

But she only has eyes for the Doctor.

He looks at her, crouched on the floor. She moves toward him, vanishing from the doorway and appearing again, closer. She has no need of walking, not when she stands above time and space. Now she can see his blue eyes clearly. There's a mixture of emotions there: confusion, shock, amazement…could it be anger? Perhaps a dash of pride and admiration?

_"What've you done?"_ he asks. It's the only thing he can think to say.

And Rose looks at him, the energy of the Time Vortex burning in her own eyes, turning them from brownish-green to golden.

_"l looked into the TARDIS, and the TARDIS looked into me."_

This is the truth.

_"Rose…you looked into the Time Vortex. No one's meant to see that."_

But the Doctor seems to know that he's not talking to Rose Tyler anymore. What she is - _who_ she is – is not Rose, but is at the same time. Just as she is both the TARDIS, and not the TARDIS. She is both the vortex and not the vortex. A strange combination of the three, and yet something that rises above them all. She knows exactly who she is, was, and always will be.

She holds up her hand, and it's enough to stop the weapons of the Daleks. She can feel their hatred and fear; fear for her and the Doctor. But she is no abomination, and her Doctor is no coward, nor killer.

_"I am the Bad Wolf. I create myself."_

She's discovering it for the first time, marveling that the messages throughout the Doctor's life were her own. But at the same time, she's always known that the two small words were leading to this.

_"I take the words, and I scatter them. A message to lead myself here."_

And she sees the words. She watches as they fly through the Doctor's life. The graffiti on the wall, the corporations and companies, the confusing words that slip from the tongue of different people, pointing to now.

But she also sees them in the Doctor's future. In the days when stars would go out, when another false god would rise from the ashes. In the darkest days of the Doctor, with a new face (she could see him and know him), he would need to see those words. 'Bad Wolf' on every banner and street sign.

And she hears those words echoing from far before. From the time forgotten, from the day cursed by the Doctor. 'Bad Wolf' was uttered before she came to be, and she shares them with a face and voice that is like her own, in the terrible Moment. The Moment that the Doctor can never remember.

The Doctor is talking to her, but she can hardly hear him for the noise in her own head. The deafening sound of a billion, billion nations and all of time and it hurts.

_"…You've got the entire Time Vortex runnin' through your head. You're gonna burn!"_

She can feel the burning.

Every breath, every heartbeat, every movement is pain. But it's beautiful pain, sustaining and killing her all at once. She can't explain it. She's never felt pain so intense, but she's never felt more alive and free.

And nothing he could say would stop her. Rose Tyler died and gave birth to Bad Wolf. Died (and will die and would've died) to save her Doctor.

_"I want you safe."_

She looks down at the Doctor, and it's Rose speaking, not Bad Wolf.

_"My Doctor. Protected from the false god."_

Is she describing the Emperor, or some other dark entity? She knows his whole life, his every face. The countless gods and demons he would face, did face, including the false god that rages within his own person.

_"I am immortal."_

Bad Wolf hears these words. The blasphemy of the Dalek, to assume rights over the right course of time. Rose retreats, and Bad Wolf is speaking again.

_"You are tiny. I can see the whole of time and space. Every atom of your existence, and I divide them."_

The words warble. The pain within is increasing. Before her eyes, she sees the entire history of the Daleks, from Skaro to Trenzalore and even beyond. She sees them falling and rising and falling again, ever relentless. Their hatred and cruelty, especially towards the Doctor. She knows his countless defeats, how helpless he has felt (and will feel and feels now) towards them.

_**There is nothing to fear from them, my Doctor.**_

All she has to do is raise her hand, and they vanish. The Daleks are torn apart, their atoms floating about the room, escaping through the cracks under the doors and drift into the universe.

_"Everything must come to dust. All things…everything dies. The Time War ends."_

She reaches out to the ships. It didn't matter if they had been a million light-years away; she stands apart from space as well as time, and distance is no obstacle to her. She feels them falling apart, the Daleks, the ships; every last one of them.

The Emperor is last, and he dies like all the others. The false god slain.

She spreads her arms out, and tears stream down her cheeks, leaving trails of black mascara. She can see 2.47 billion children, the screaming and dying of countless planets and systems. She knows the terrors of the Time War, the bloodlust and the torments.

Everywhere, through time and space, past, present, and future, she can see innocents perishing and evil trampling down the good. She sees the pure being extinguished, the anguish of lost loved ones. The pain of creation is weighing down on her.

And she wonders how the Doctor can live his life without crying every passing second for all that was ever lost, all that would be lost, all that was being destroyed at that very moment across the universe.

_"Rose, you've done it! Now stop. Just let go!"_

She wants to let go. Within her, Rose Tyler is withering and dying. The Time Vortex is too great, the knowledge and power too much for a human vessel. And yet…

_"How can I let go of this? I bring life."_

_ "But this is wrong! You can't control life and death!"_

_ "But I can. The sun and the moon; the day and the night."_

In some hallway of Crusader 50, Jack gasps as life is forced into him. It's nothing (not now) for Bad Wolf to reunite the soul with the body, to bring life to the dead. This one small ability. There is nothing to stop her.

Well, nothing except for Rose Tyler.

"_…But why does it hurt?"_

She's human and this relationship between her and the Time Vortex is incompatible. She knows this; the question itself is redundant. But that fact can't stop her from asking _why_. Why anyone should have to pay so extravagantly for such a privilege.

_"The power's gonna kill you, and it's my fault."_

_**Not your fault, Doctor!**_

Why couldn't he _see_? The reason for this was to save him. Never, never did she want to hear him blame himself for her actions. How freely she had given herself for him; didn't he know that? How willing she was to bear the pain (pain that was pushing forward and overcoming her, drowning out the singing of the universe).

_"I can see everything. All that is, all that was, all that ever could be."_

She can see a future where she's with the Doctor forever. She can see a beach that bears her name and can hear the words-that-might-have-been. She can see a glorious golden timeline where she saves the Doctor from every falsehood, and brings the universe into an endless age of peace. No wars, no injustice, no bloodshed, no tears or regrets or hatred.

_"But that's what I see, all the time! And doesn't it drive you mad?!"_

Bad Wolf is dying. Rose is dying. The Time Vortex is too much, too much. How short-lived, how unfair the universe was. The one thing to keep the Doctor safe forever was going to die, right here, right now.

The golden timelines are fading and dying. The song continues, a haunting melody that sways tantalizingly within her reach.

_"My head,"_ Rose whimpers. Bad Wolf is perishing, and Rose breaks through the golden haze, the lofty power that separates her from her Doctor.

_"Come here."_

_ "It's killin' me!"_

Only one will live.

Bad Wolf knows this, and Rose knows it, too.

If the Doctor doesn't leave her to burn, then he will die. Such an ironic twist of events; Rose would've died to save her Doctor (in a way she did), but now she's going to be the reason for his demise.

She looks at him, and knows that he knows this too. But he reaches out to her, taking her arms in his own firm, strong, gentle hands. She knows what his decision will be (she can see all of time and space, and she knows what must come to pass, and what never can be).

_"I think you need a Doctor."_

He pulls her close, and they kiss. The golden energy streams away from Rose, into the Doctor. And he can see the thoughts, the timelines, the pain and the beauty that danced before Rose's eyes. The weight of time and space, the echoes of 'Bad Wolf' resounding across the universe.

Rose falls into his arms, unconscious. Bad Wolf has fulfilled her task; the Doctor is safe. The vortex is sent back into the blue box, and the heart is returned to the TARDIS.

But forever more the words echo throughout time and space. Forever they mingle with the song of the universe, gleaming with golden rays of light, hope, and life.

The two most powerful words in the universe.

_Bad Wolf_

* * *

…

**So…this was actually way longer than I had intended. But I hadn't encountered any other Bad Wolf-centered fics (I was surprised, to be honest). I mean, Rose could see all of time and space. She could see the Doctor's every face, and everything he would encounter. She could probably see the horrible aftermath of Doomsday, when she'll have to say good-bye to her Doctor. She could see the Time War, and all the awful things that ever happened or would happen.**

** But I also realized that she could see the words "Bad Wolf" that appear in "Turn Left". I mean, how else could those words have gotten there? And the Moment using "Bad Wolf" as her form, when Bad Wolf technically hadn't come along yet. **

** All in all, it was just so interesting to try and dig into what Rose/Bad Wolf was thinking throughout this very short scene in "Parting of Ways".**

** The dialogue may be a bit confusing and disjointed, but I wanted it to be that way. Like when the Moment or the human TARDIS is speaking, and they're constantly jumping from one thing to another, 'cause they've got all these things running through their minds. I wanted to go for that confusing, sort of jumbled and rattling train of thought.**

**Anyhoo, hope you guys enjoyed!**


	10. Prompt 19: Living Nightmare

**Hello, my beautiful/handsome readers!**

**Thank you for tagging along on this story, reading/reviewing/faving. You guys make my day. :)**

**ANYhoo, enough of my ranting. Let's get on with the next prompt, shall we?**

**God bless and have a great day (or night)!  
ThePro-LifeCatholic**

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**ErinKenobi2893:**** Thank you sooo much for your awesome reviews! I sat down and saw all of these reviews to ALL my stories (OK, maybe not all of them, but you get the idea). You don't know how happy it made me. **

**So, yeah. I'm going to write your prompt for this chapter…I may change some things, but I'll try and keep it as true to the prompt as possible.**

**Also, I always love meeting a fellow Catholic; it seems hard to find any in the world of internet. I'll be keeping you in my prayers, if you do the same for me.**

**DON'T WE ALL WANT ROSE BACK?!**

**I do that too, actually; watching just one scene over and over and over again. Usually, it's the painful ones…you know, where the Doctor or a character I like is in mortal danger, or hurt, or dying…don't know what that says about me, but there you go.**

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**Writing Prompt #19: A Living Nightmare**

**Characters: **Captain Jack Harkness, 10th Doctor, mentions of Martha Jones

**Shippings: **Well…it's Jack. I'm not sure if I need to say anything else. There's obviously going to be some flirting, and perhaps mentions of one-sided Jack/Doctor…but that's just because I'm trying to keep people as in-character as possible. There's no serious relationship going on between them.

**Genre:** Humor/Friendship

**Rating: **K

**Summary: **The Doctor (Tenth?) doesn't get colds. Only he has one now. And who else but Captain Jack Harkness to the rescue?  
This is the worst day of the Doctor's long life.

**Prompted by: **ErinKenobi2893, aka AnotherBook

**Note: There are probably going to be some OOC (Out-Of-Character, for those who don't know) moments. It's sort of intentional.**

* * *

Jack Harkness decided to forgo this particular TARDIS stop.

After their most recent adventure on the planet Farnian, the Doctor was dropping a still-sleeping Martha Jones off at her house. Captain Harkness reclined on the white couch of the Doctor's bigger-on-the-inside spaceship, taking a breather.

Farnian had been a nice planet; the only downside was that the inhabitants were a suspicious bunch. According to their religion, anyone with black hair (seeing as it was so rare on their planet) was considered a witch/diviner/bewitcher of sorts. The brown-haired Doctor was left alone, and Jack managed to hold his own rather well. Martha, during a hectic moment that involved a group of black-cloaked strangers nearly getting hit by a runaway cart, had been captured by a group of radicals and poisoned. So their "pleasant" outing turned into a mad scramble to find the antidote as Martha spiraled to a painless death.

But they had found a cure, managed to bring the radicals to justice, and the Doctor had begun a revolutionary spark on Farnian.

"The color of someone's hair doesn't determine who and what they are!" had been his parting words.

All in all, Jack considered it to be another normal day on the TARDIS.

As these thoughts passed through his mind, the wooden doors swung open, and the Doctor bounded up the ramp to the console. Jack looked to the alien questioningly.

"Did you tell her mom?" he asked.

"Didn't see a need to," the Doctor replied, pressing some buttons. The TARDIS engines began to wheeze as the ship was catapulted into the Time Vortex. "She didn't die, just needs to rest up from the trip." The Doctor sniffed loudly several times. "What didn't happen doesn't need to be addressed. She'll be fine; that's all that matters."

Jack nodded. He watched the Time Lord stab at more buttons and flip some switches.

"Now, Jack, where are you headed?"

"I was gonna meet up with my team," Harkness replied with a fond smile. "You should introduce yourself. They've been crazy to meet you ever since I told them about you."

The Doctor grinned at nothing in particular as he typed in the appropriate date. "Maybe someday," he responded vaguely. His grin bent into a grimace as he coughed (rather violently) into his pinstriped sleeve.

Jack arched an eyebrow, but didn't say anything. In fact, the rest of the trip would have been in silence if the Doctor didn't keep coughing and sniffing.

When Captain Harkness had gathered enough pluck to ask the Doctor how he was feeling, the TARDIS jolted to a halt.

"Off you go, then," the Doctor stated, hands in his pockets. Jack opened his mouth, closed it, and shrugged.

"See you around, Doc."

The Doctor rolled his eyes in return. "There's no getting rid of you, is there Jack?"

"Nope. So don't even try." Captain Harkness spun on his heel, marching smartly to the wooden doors. He froze in mid-step when he heard someone blowing their nose. Wheeling around, Jack Harkness marched back up the ramp and planted his feet in front of the Doctor.

"Are you alright?" he queried. The Doctor lurched back, surprised by the sudden confrontation.

"Yeah, course I am! What made you think that I…ah…ah-" Whatever the Doctor was going to say was lost in a gigantic sneeze.

"You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd think that you were experiencing a cold," Jack probed.

"Superior Time-Lord biology," the Doctor waved him off. "I don't get colds. You know when we arrived on Farnian, and we had to undergo that mandatory health-check?"

"Yeah…"

"We-e-ll, the vaccination they gave has different effects on different species. You and Martha got off pretty well, but me…" he pulled another tissue from one of his many pockets and blew into it. "…The side effects manifest themselves as cold-like symptoms." He growled in annoyance and plopped down on the couch. "Harmless, but very annoying."

Jack considered the predicament before him. Then, with an easy grin and a chuckle, he made up his mind.

"I'll stick around until you're feeling better."

"What?!" The Doctor sprang to his feet. "No way, Jack. Your team needs you."

"We're in a _time machine_," Jack pointed out. "And nothing you're gonna say will convince me to leave. Consider yourself stuck, Doctor." Jack patted the Doctor on the shoulder. He was remembering way back, when his own mother would care for him when he had the slightest of illnesses.

"You just get yourself comfy somewhere, Doc, and leave the rest to me."

Jack strutted from the room, humming snatches of 51st century songs. The Doctor watched him go, then buried his head in this hands. A huge sneeze burst out of him, sending him falling back on the white cushion.

This was going to be the worst day ever.

* * *

_5 minutes later (after getting lost in the TARDIS hallways)…_

Jack walked back into the console room to see the Doctor fiddling around with a handful of wires.

"I have brought you a gift," Jack began, bowing low and displaying a bundle of fabric. The Doctor glanced up at him, one eyebrow nearly touching his hairline.

"Here," the captain dumped the blanket and pillow unceremoniously on top of the Time Lord.

"What's this for, then?" the Doctor questioned, kicking it aside.

"The best cure for any illness is rest."

The Doctor huffed. "Since when did _you_ become an expert in medical training?"

"After I met Martha."

The Doctor didn't have anything to say to this retort, so he merely shook his head. "I don't need to rest."

"Right-hand shelf in the kitchen, the far left corner. Secret panel on the back wall," Jack recited. The Doctor blinked.

"What?"

"That's where you keep your emergency banana stash." Captain Harkness crossed his arms. "Now you. Rest."

The Doctor opened his mouth, and promptly shut it. Snatching the blanket and pillow, he stalked out of the room, grumbling.

* * *

Jack Harkness wandered around the TARDIS corridors. He was trying to get to the kitchen; the sentient ship seemed to have other ideas.

"Listen, I just want to make him some soup or something," Jack nearly pleaded. The TARDIS' thrumming response rippled through the walls. He could have sworn that she was laughing at him.

* * *

The Doctor had set himself up in a spare bedroom. There was a television set, a fold-out couch, and a coffee table from the 76th century (which was actually made out of dried and preserved coffee beans). A box of tissues was on the table, within easy reach. The Time Lord himself was lying on the couch, blanket pulled up to his chin.

"DOCTOOOOOOOR!"

A drawn-out sigh escaped the Doctor's mouth as he kicked his way out of the soft folds of fabric. With soft steps, he shuffled through the ship's maze-like interior, trying to locate the captain.

* * *

_Several minutes of yelling later…_

"Oh, there you are." Jack examined the Doctor's outfit. "I didn't know you wore pajamas."

"Of course I wear pajamas! What else would I wear when I was trying to get some rest?" The Doctor sighed. "What do you want?"

"Uh…I don't know where the kitchen is."

The Doctor rolled his eyes to the ceiling. "This way. Come on."

Jack eyed the Doctor's footwear. "I didn't know you wore slippers."

"They were from Jackie. I couldn't refuse them."

"Oh. Who's Jackie?"

"Don't even start."

* * *

"There you go. Kitchen." The Doctor sneezed and turned to the doorway. "Now don't bother me again."

"Thanks again, Doctor!" Jack called after the retreating figure.

* * *

The Doctor settled himself on the couch. He kicked off the slippers, pulling the blanket around him. Now that he was physically lying on a comfortable surface, he was reminded of how long it had been since his last actual rest…

"DOCTOOOOOR!"

He groaned and sat up.

"WHAAAAAAAT?!"

"HOW DO YOU MAKE CHICKEN SOUP?"

Instead of replying, the Doctor slammed his head into the pillow.

* * *

When Captain Harkness finally found the Doctor's room, the said alien was stretched out on the couch, eyes closed. He looked a lot younger (and more attractive), with his face relaxed. The pillow was on the floor, and the blanket was tangled in his legs.

"Doctor," Jack hissed, setting a hot bowl of ramen noodle soup on the coffee table. The Doctor cracked open one eye, fixing it on Jack.

"What?"

"I made you soup."

The Doctor buried his head in the couch cushion. "I don't want any," he maundered.

"And after all the work I put into it, too!" Jack declared, feigning despondence. "How about a story?"

The Doctor mumbled something into the cushion.

"What?" Jack put a hand up to his ear. "You want to hear about the dashing Captain Jack?"

The Doctor burst into a coughing fit, Gallifreyan spewing out along with the hacking.

"Alright, then." Jack paused, hands on his hips. "How about a movie?"

The Time Lord considered this. "Fine," he conceded. "Just don't have it up too loud. I'm trying to rest."

"Yay!" Jack cheered as he ran from the room.

* * *

_A couple hours later…_

Martha stepped into the TARDIS. She was feeling much better, and couldn't wait to get back to adventuring with Jack and the Doctor.

"Doctor? Jack?" she called. "If you're ready to go, then we can-"

"Shhh," a voice rasped. Martha jumped and turned to see the Doctor standing by the console. He was feeling much better, the symptoms nearly gone. He could've slept a bit longer, but he was perfectly fine for now.

Seeing his companion's questioning look, he directed her to a TARDIS room. She peered inside, grinning at the sight. Jack Harkness was fast asleep in front of the television, his head resting in a half-eaten bowl of popcorn.

"Adorable," Martha noted. "We should get a picture of this." She turned to see the Doctor disappearing down the hallway. "Where are you going?"

He looked over his shoulder, mischief sparking in his eyes. "To find a marker," he replied.

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**Whew…that was long. **_**Really long**_**. I hope you enjoyed this, especially ****ErinKenobi2893****.**

** See you guys for the next prompt!**


	11. Prompt 11: Walk on the Wild Side

**This prompt really doesn't have anything important going on. It's just this little stand-alone scene that came to mind after I realized that I had yet to post a one-shot that included Miss Martha Jones. So here you go; a one-shot with Martha and the Doctor.**

**(that, and I wanted a reason to post an important reference which is being included in my other Doctor Who stories)**

**God bless and have a great day (or night)!  
ThePro-LifeCatholic **

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**Jesuslovesmarina:**** Awww…thanks for the review! Yeah, I thought two Jacks being together would be hilarious and…well…different, to say the least. I should bring Fem!Jack back to mess with Eleven and/or possibly Nine. :) **

**2) Also, thanks for the comment about it being less OOC. I was trying (am trying) to keep stuff as in-character as possible (unless it's some really ridiculous story, that is), and it's nice to know that the audience thinks that my hard work is paying off.**

**ErinKenobi2893:**** *unnatural fangirling noises* **_**I **_**inspired **_**you**_**?! You don't know how happy and satisfied your review made me feel when I read it! Just do it! I'm sure you'll be awesome, and you'll have to let me know when you start it so I can drop by and leave some reviews/prompts. And you're very welcome about the prompt. Feel free to leave more anytime!**

**10thDoctor42:**** 1) Who **_**doesn't **_**like Jack, regardless of whether he's female or male?**

**2) All I can say is…I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I'm a huge 10xRose shipper, but I also appreciate well-done angst and whump fics. I guess, though, if there was some other way for me to put this, I…**

**3) Chapter 1 has seemed to be the winning one-shot as of now. I'm glad you found it that funny!**

**4) I am a miss. I figure that won't do anything detrimental to my personal security. :) And thank you! I do like to think that I write fairly well, but it's nice to know that other people back that opinion, too.**

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**Writing Prompt #11: Walk on the Wild Side**

**Characters: **10th Doctor, Martha Jones

**Genre: **Friendship/Adventure

**Shippings:** Slight, one-sided Martha/Doctor

**Rating: **K

* * *

Martha Jones, medical student, was standing on an alien planet, underneath an alien sky. The crowd that thronged around her, choking the street and making it nearly impossible to move, was made up of extraterrestrial life-forms.

Martha had to recite this to herself during those particularly surreal moments when she was realizing how crazy her predicament was. A human from 21st century London, strutting the streets of an inter-planetary bazaar in the 72nd century (according to the human calendar, that is). What was the possibility?

She was interrupted from her thoughts as the audience around her clapped and cheered. Martha directed her attention back to the street performers in front of her. There were five or six of them, dressed in gaudy, bright orange and red outfits. Despite the heat of that planet, the boys wore pants and long-sleeved shirts. The two girls among them were wearing complimentary dresses that hung down in ruffles almost to their ankles. Black scarves were wrapped about their heads, as if they wished to keep their identity hidden from the rest of the world.

Martha applauded with the rest of the aliens as the performers took small pouches from the folds of their clothing. The men opened the small brown bags, dumping an unknown substance into their mouths. The ceaseless chatter of the crowd continued on all sides. All along the street, vendors were screaming their wares into the hustle and bustle, trying to out-yell their competitors.

The entertainers picked up long hollow poles from the ground (they had used these same poles in an earlier trick). Uniformly, they brought one end to their mouths. Closing his eyes, one of the men was the first to blow.

Sparks shot out of the rod, changing from yellow to red to green. The spectators exclaimed, and children giggled as they raced around, trying to catch the falling sparks. The two women stepped forward, dragging their sticks through the clouds of glittering specks. A green streak here. Three blue streaks branching from the green "stem", stretching to the sky. Three black swipes, sprouting from the green sparks, bowing to the ground, dripping onto the small gaps on the road. They fashioned the masses of sparks into shimmering pictures; fish, horses, flowers, and strange creatures that Martha couldn't identify.

The scene was quite a spectacular one, but short-lived for Martha Jones. A hand grabbed her own, and she found herself being yanked through the crowd.

"Hey!" she shouted, trying to make her voice stand out. The one who was holding her hand glanced over his shoulder, and she saw that it was none other than the Doctor.

"What's going on?" was the next thing from her mouth.

"Short version: the person over there who I was trying to get that piece of equipment from? Apparently, saying 'thank you' and 'good-bye' aren't the right words to use when taking your leave."

Martha stared at the Doctor. Of all the things, they were running for their lives because some alien took offense at the Doctor's farewell? "That's…that's insane!" she scoffed.

The Doctor looked at her for a moment, then grinned. "Yeah, it is." His grin stretched into a wide smile, causing wrinkles to appear around his eyes. He squeezed her hand, pulling her along. "When isn't it?" he called to her.

Martha smiled softly, trying not to feel too self-conscious about her hand being in his. These were the moments when she liked to fancy that the brown eyes and infectious smile were only for her. But these instances were brief, and she knew that it would pass quickly.

Still, she gripped his hand and ran with him. Martha and the Doctor, running for their lives across the surface of an alien planet, underneath an alien sky. Martha and the Doctor, together, as she thought it should be. She could imagine that for now.

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**We-e-ell, it sort of started as a "Walk on the Wild Side"…but then it turned into sort of Martha-and-the-Doctor angst…pining…thing.**

** And yes, there is a reference in this chapter which will be used in another DW story of mine, **_**Room Service**_**, and in several other stories after it that I plan on posting. Good luck with finding what it is! I'm completely cool with you guys posting your guesses in your reviews, even if you're certain you know what the reference is.**


	12. Prompt 12: Opposites Attract

**Trying to keep up some sort of writing schedule…it's nice to have a one-shot/prompt-based story to fall back on when inspiration is running low. So I figured I'd write a shorter prompt today, seeing as I'm have trouble thinking about what to write right now.**

**God bless and have a great day (or night)!**

**ThePro-LifeCatholic**

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**Jesuslovesmarina:**** Yep, poor Martha. The thing is, I don't know why so many people don't like her. I think Martha Jones was a really good character, but I appreciated her more when she **_**wasn't**_** the Doctor's companion. That's me, anyway.**

**my fandom is better than yours:**** Welcome to the story! Love the username, by the way. ;)**

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**I guess maybe I should make a disclaimer or something…I've only done that once in this fic. Welp, I don't own Doctor Who, or its characters. There are some OCs of mine who will be scattered throughout this story (I've already included some), and they belong to me. I guess I also own whatever ideas/theories/ramblings that aren't included in the show. I don't own the BBC. If I did, Moriarty would've stayed dead, and his brother would be taking over in Season 4 (Moriarty having an older brother is a canon fact found in the original Sherlock Holmes' books).**

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**Writing Prompt #12: Love Spell: Opposites Attract**

**Characters: **Ninth Doctor, Rose Tyler

**Shippings: **Nine/Rose

**Genre: **Romance/Hurt/Comfort

**Rating: **K

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They were opposites in every way.

He was dark, obscure. He dressed in black and other atramentous colors specifically so he could slip past unseen. He stuck to the shadows, afraid that if he stepped into the light, his entire self would be exposed to the world.

She, on the other hand, was a bright, pink-and-yellow phenomenon. People saw her coming from a mile away. And strangely, she didn't seem to care that the world could see her so easily.

He hid himself in armor of his own design. Only occasionally would he show himself, in brief flashes. If enough rage built up, those nearby could see the dark creature that lurked behind its barrier of leather. The Doctor who had slain billions.

Other times, he would let himself out during a moment of true joy and fondness. The smile on his face wouldn't be a mask. He would practically glow with energy, life, and laughter. He would dance, spinning on his heels and snapping his fingers. But he would always lock himself up again.

She wore her heart on her sleeve. You could always tell what she was thinking, even when she didn't say anything. And she had problems containing herself, especially when she felt that something immoral was going on.

He could stand in silence, unreadable, the thoughts racing through his mind as he figured out the flaws of his adversaries. These he'd use against them. He would be lying if he said that he never used questionable means to attain a good end.

She wasn't wired that way. She hated all evil, and she couldn't seem to meet the Doctor halfway on this point. She yelled in the face of the enemy; while he figured out a way to free them, she was reprimanding the monster. Time and time again she kept him from choosing the options which he felt were wrong but necessary.

He had lost everything. His family, his friends, his home, and by his own hands. He could never shake this thought. Even during those moments of true happiness, it was lurking in his subconscious. A whirl of whispers followed him wherever he went. He couldn't be loved, he couldn't love. He would never again find happiness of any kind. The universe couldn't afford to be merciful to one such as him.

She defied these fears. She took his hand and entrusted to him her life. She followed in his footsteps, and made him smile for the first time in years. She made him find hope when he had been convinced that he no longer deserved it. It was she who planted a small though in his mind, that maybe he wasn't doomed to be alone. That maybe he could find for himself a new family.

In all of time and space, across timelines and galaxies, they had both found the one worth having forever. She was his, and he was hers. And no differences could possibly separate them.

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**So…there we go. A bit of Nine/Rose stuff. Hope you guys enjoy!**


	13. Prompt 20: Human for a Day

**Hello, my beautiful/handsome readers! I'll be starting up school this upcoming week, so updates will be more sporadic, there may be more time between them, ect., ect.**

**However, don't think that I'm abandoning these lovely ficlets! I'll continue to write.**

**God bless and have a great day (or night)!**

**ThePro-LifeCatholic**

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**ErinKenobi2893:**** You see, Eleven wears a fruit hat now. Fruit hats are cool.**

**And if anyone could make the Doctor…erm… "comment" in Gallifreyan, it would be Jack Harkness. XD**

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**Writing Prompt #20: Human for a Day**

**Characters: **Clara Oswald, Eleventh Doctor

**Shippings: **None

**Genre: **Bit of humor, some angst/pining/whump on Clara's part

**Rating: **K

**Note: **The inspiration for this fic came from a Costco run that I went on with other family members. There was this guy standing in line (not the line we were in), and he looked a bit like Eleven. Not only that, but he acted like Eleven too, in the way he moved and the things he did (for instance, he tossed a box of stuff in the air and caught it several different times). He even had a bowtie hanging around his neck (not tied, just sort of there)!

Unfortunately, I was never able to approach the said gentleman and thank him for making my day infinitely better. HOWEVER…thanks to him, I was able to get an image in my head of what Eleven would act like if he had to become a human via fob watch.

So this is dedicated to the random stranger in Costco. On the slightest offchance that you read this, you're awesome, and thanks for making my run to Costco awesome. :)

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"But Claraaaaaa!" the Doctor moaned.

"What?" Clara put her hands on her hips and frowned at the man before her. The Doc – no, wait, John Smith – was grumbling and pulling on the bowtie that she had just tied fastened around his neck.

"How many times do I have to tell you: I don't _need_ to wear a bowtie!"

A small lump jumped into Ms. Oswald's throat. Quickly, she gulped it back and forced a determined smile.

"But it looks cool," she reasoned, hearing the Doctor's voice echoing in her words. "And it makes you look cool."

The Doctor opened his mouth to retort, but stopped. There was something in Clara's eyes that made him pause. He glanced down at the piece of fabric wrapped around his neck. Then, with his own long fingers, he readjusted the tie. He smiled softly at his friend.

"Maybe you're right," he almost whispered. "Maybe it is a little bit cool."

Clara grinned. "Off you go, then," she ordered. "You've got customers waiting."

"Pfft!" The Doctor flapped his hands dismissively. "Who cares about boring jobs, eh? A nuisance is all they are, Clara." He waggled his finger for emphasis. "All jobs do is take away from the really important things. Like having fun!" The Doctor pranced around the room.

"Having fun won't get the rent paid," Clara reminded the not-alien-Doctor. He stopped dead in his tracks and snapped his head towards her.

"I'd much rather go on adventures, like that man from my dreams." The young man sent still, staring at the ceiling fan. "No job, no responsibilities, no rent." His voice fell. "Nothing but the stars and endless skies. Nothing but you and me, and that wonderful ship." John Smith's eyes lit up as visions of starry nights, bustling cities, and citadel spirals danced through his mind. "But, unfortunately, dreams are only dreams." He turned to Clara, and she had to swallow another lump.

He looked so lost and sad, as if a glimmer of the Doctor were still in there, trying to get out…but the moment was soon gone. John Smith came to the forefront, and the loneliness that had been so apparent vanished.

"Off to work then, eh Clara?" He said cheerfully, starting to the door of the small apartment. "Money isn't going to make itself." The Doctor opened the door, glancing back at her and winking. "Stay outta trouble, Clara," he said. Then he was gone.

Clara stood in the tiny living room, arms crossed over her chest. She watched the empty doorway. She knew that the Doctor, once out of her sight, would be undoing his bowtie. He'd come back from work and it would be dangling loosely on his shoulders…again.

She glanced at the fob watch on the kitchen counter. Mr. Smith had been looking at it again this morning, but he no doubt had forgotten all about it by now. She picked it up. Its smooth silver surface glinted up at her.

"Wish I'd never seen you," she hissed spitefully. That wretched thing! It had taken her Doctor from her…her best friend in the whole universe. And the man the watch had put in his place was hardly a replacement. She squeezed her eyes shut, remembering her last moments with the Doctor.

"I'll have to change, Clara, to keep us both safe," he had said. In the flurry of activity, he hadn't really explained what was going on. All he had made clear was that needed to change, and if he didn't, then they could very well die.

"But I don't want you to change!" she had yelled. Why, _why_?!

And then he had grabbed her arms and looked into her eyes.

"Would you rather have me changed or dead?" he asked.

She opened her eyes and scanned the apartment.

"Stay brave for me, Clara," he had pleaded. "I don't want to change either. And John Smith is going to need you. _I'm_ going to need you."

She brushed the tears from her wet eyes and took in a shaky breath.

"For you, Doctor," she murmured. She placed the watch back in its resting place and went to the small kitchen.

"How about another go at that soufflé?" she asked no one in particular.

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**So...yeah. There you guys go. Enjoy some Doctor!angst.**


	14. Prompt 32: It's not What it Looks Like

**Hello again! School's starting tomorrow, so I wanted to try and get at least one of my requests written up and posted. **

**You are all amazing, by the way. Just thought I'd let you guys know. ;)**

**God bless and have a great day (or night)!**

**ThePro-LifeCatholic**

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**Jesuslovesmarina:**** It's nice to know that you liked it so much! I really enjoyed writing that last prompt, and this one is for you. :) Hope you enjoy!**

**ErinKenobi2893:**** I'm pretty sure that whatever the Doctor is saying in Gallifreyan, it isn't very nice. Keep in mind, he also says something not-very-nice in the episode **_**Christmas Invasion**_**. If you haven't seen that episode, there's a part where he calls an alien a name in its language, and the TARDIS doesn't translate.**

**As to the hat…I have no clue. It's just a cool fruit hat. I'm pretty sure the Doctor had in the fridge before they crashed, and was just waiting for the perfect opportunity to wear it.**

**Awwww! Amy with bows and arrows! I bet she dressed up as Merida for Halloween once, and made Rory dress up as a bear, or something. XD**

**Yes. Time Lords have magical hair. This has been scientifically proven.**

**Peanut butter graham crackers? I'd be starving after a meal like that, but that's me. But keep a meal like that away from Nine. My sister and I developed this headcanon that each regeneration has a certain food that gives that particular Doctor the equivalent of a "sugar rush". And for Nine, we decided that if he ate more than a box of graham crackers at a time, he would suffer from a sugar high.**

**Lalalala****: Welcome to the story! I'm glad you've been enjoying it, and I hope you stick around! I'll be doing your request next, so please be patient.**

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**Writing Prompt #32: 'It's not What it Looks Like'**

**Characters: **Clara Oswald, Eleventh Doctor/John Smith

**Shippings:** None

**Genre:** Humor/Adventure/Friendship/perhaps some angst

**Rating: **K

**Summary: **could you please make a sequel in which he (the Doctor/John Smith) gets into a bit of a mess at work and Clara has to come help him out of it? I can just picture it...

**Prompted by: **Jesuslovesmarina

**NOTE:** **This prompt is a continuation of the previous chapter. :)**

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When the Doctor came to Costco, the large warehouse was bustling with activity. He showed himself in, fastening his nametag securely on his shirt. With a quick jerk, the bowtie came undone. He let the piece of red fabric dangle from his shoulders and he moved through the aisles, looking for anyone who might need his assistance.

"Excuse me, Sir?" a voice queried. Mr. Smith wheeled around, nearly knocking over a chip display.

"Yes, yes? Someone call me?"

"That was me," a young woman said. She was shorter than the Doctor, with a build that fell between slim and rounded. One hand clenched the strap of a leather bag, the other one held a jug of milk.

"Oh, hello." The Doctor grinned. "I'm the Doc-no, wait. Not the Doctor. Try that again, shall we? I'm Smith. John Smith. See, it says my name on this tag." He tapped his nametag for emphasis. "Sorry; sometimes I say 'the Doctor' instead of my actual name…don't really know why. And sometimes I open my mouth and words just come out and I really need to stop doing that because you're the customer. You're the customer, so you're supposed to be the one talking to me!" John Smith raised his hand in the air as if he were preparing to slap himself.

The woman frowned, brows drawing together. Her blue eyes flashed concern as she glanced around nervously. Was she stuck with a mental case?

Seeming to think better of his actions, the Doctor lowered his hand and shook his head. Then he smiled and turned to the customer. "Now, what was it you needed?"

"Uh…" the girl blinked. "Uh…I was wondering where you kept the eggs. I've been all over the freezer section, and I can't seem to find them."

"Hmmm…" Mr. Smith rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Eggs would probably be in the freezer section."

The woman rolled her eyes.

"Yes, definitely the freezer section," the Doctor continued. He clapped his hands together, causing the woman to jump. "I'll show you where. Come with me!"

With his client trailing behind him, Mr. Smith cruised through the maze-like aisles of Costco, legs and arms swinging out and threatening to destroy the array of products on the shelves as he passed them. Finally, he reached his destination.

"The freezer section!" he announced, motioning towards the rows of freezers. The woman huffed and swept short brown curls from her face.

"I _know _eggs are supposed to be in this section!" she fumed. "I came to you because I couldn't find them here! I didn't want you to drag me back here when I had _already looked_!"

"Oh…right." The Doctor cleared his throat, realizing his mistake too late. "Sorry about that. Here, how about you let me find the eggs for you?" He looked hopefully at her. The woman stared back for a moment, then let her shoulders relax.

"Fine," she sighed. John's face lit up and he practically danced down the aisle, seeking out the containers of eggs.

"Here we are!" he called triumphantly, pulling out a dozen eggs. "How many d'you need?"

"Just the one," the woman replied. She couldn't help but smile a bit. The employee's chipper liveliness was contagious.

John Smith started towards her. As he walked, he suddenly tossed the eggs into the air, catching them as they came back down.

"Don't do that!" the girl cried. The Doctor merely smirked in response.

"What, afraid I'd break them? Not a chance. Watch this!" He tossed it into the air again.

"If you do that one more time…" the woman left her threat unfinished.

"Alright, fine." Mr. Smith tucked the box under his arm with a sullen look. The woman's eyes went wide and she started forward.

"Your shoelace!" she practically screamed. Just as the words left her mouth, John Smith stepped on the untied lace. For a moment, he was balanced perfectly between recovery and disaster. Gravity, however, proved to be too strong for him. Arms and legs flailing, John fell to the ground. The cardboard box burst open, and the eggs smashed against the cement floor. In the shock of the moment, the woman dropped the milk. The white liquid splatted on the cement and spread out across the floor, mixing with the eggs.

"Stay there!" John Smith cautioned, attempting to stand up. "It's a bit slipperyyyyyyyyy!" As he spoke, the Doctor skidded backwards, landing back-first in the egg-and-milk mixture. The customer tried stopping – she really did – but it was to no avail. She slid across the slick floor, crashing into a freezer door.

"Take my hand!" the Doctor demanded, holding his arm out to her. It took a couple of tries, but they were eventually able to grab hold of each other. Together, they attempted to skate across the gooey surface, but with very little success.

In fact, both employee and customer, after one such attempt, found themselves squashed almost nose-to-nose against a freezer door. The woman's face turned bright red, but the Doctor's hand had become tangled in her purse-strap, so she couldn't push him away.

"Well…" he said. "This is awkward."

"You're telling me," the customer rasped. Then she glanced beyond the Doctor and paled. Mr. Smith twisted his body, trying to see behind him.

Clara Oswald stood at one end of the aisle, staring at them silently. In her hand, John Smith could see his wallet. He must've forgotten it when he had left the apartment, and Clara (being the great friend that she was) had found it and was bringing it to him…

He glanced first at Clara, then at the woman directly in front of him. After several moments of silence, he coughed and cleared his throat.

"Hi, Clara," he said.

His friend arched an eyebrow, and opened her mouth.

"Now, before you say anything…!" the Doctor exclaimed. "This is most definitely _not_ what it looks like!"

Later, John Smith received many odd looks as he was dragged out of Costco by a very irate Clara Oswald.

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**Welp…this turned out a bit long. Hope you enjoyed, ****Jesuslovesmarina****! I'm not sure if this was exactly what you had in mind, but I'm happy with how it turned out.**


	15. Prompt 93: Can't Stop Laughing

**Here's the next prompt. After my first week of dual-enrollment, I'm happy with how it's going. I like my professors, like my courses, and the other people in my class aren't awful. **

**Don't worry, ****Lalalala****. I will get to your prompt. I haven't forgotten it!**

**God bless and have a great day (or night)!**

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**ThePro-LifeCatholic**

**Prompt #93: Can't Stop Laughing**

**Characters: **Lance, Donna N., 10th Doctor

**Shippings: **Implied Donna/Lance

**Genre: **Friendship/Humor/Adventure

**Rating: **K

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It was quite a terrible situation, really.

She had been walking down the aisle…literally. She had been physically lifting up one foot and putting it down, actually, really and truly heading towards the altar of the church. Quite a beautiful, spacious building, too. Light filtered through the multicolored windows, sweet-smelling flowers heaped in bouquets where ever she turned her eye. The buzzing sound of the organ as it blasted notes of some droll wedding march was hardly registered by the ginger bride.

Donna Noble was really and truly getting married.

And then that was when everything had gone wrong. Kidnapped, she'd been. Swiped from the red-carpeted, petal-strewn aisle and planted in a box drifting through space.

Of all the things that could have possibly gone wrong at a wedding, this was the one scenario which no amount of planning, helpful advice, or know-it-all blogs prepared her for.

To make matters worse, her kidnapper wasn't actually a kidnapper, and was an alien. From Mars. OK…not from Mars. A skinny good-for-nothing who didn't know why she was on his ship (and didn't seem to enjoy her presence immensely, for some reason).

As for the ship itself…don't even get her started. Oh, she was gettin' a headache just _thinking _about it.

So her wedding was destroyed, the reception started without her and ended with exploding Christmas trees and a killer marching band. And then she'd been kidnapped. Again. By robots dressed as Santa (there were reasons why she had despised the holiday before, and now she could add to the growing list of its hateful qualities).

And now she, her almost-husband, and the Martian (not-Martian…Doctor, was it?) were cruising their way around a supposedly-nonexistent floor of H. C. Clements. On Segways.

Oh, yeah; and the Doctor had called her a pencil in a mug. She was pretty certain that it wasn't a compliment.

So, to sum up, it was probably the worst day in Donna's whole drifting, somewhat never-quite-right life. It would've been perfectly acceptable for her to starting crying, or complaining. Even more acceptable would've been for her to drag her husband back off to the church and continue with the ceremony as if nothing wrong had happened.

But the whole situation was so awful, so bizarre, and the stick-of-nothing in pinstripes was so serious, standing there all solid and stoic on his Segway, rolling his way to either certain victory or certain demise, that Donna found it funny.

True, it was a completely inappropriate, twisted sort of humor, but she couldn't stop the laughter that had been growing ever since they had started rolling down the eerily-lit hallway. It finally came out, a shriek of laughter that was followed by another, and another.

Lance glanced at her nervously, probably thinking that his bride-to-be had officially lost it. The Doctor too didn't seem to understand the strange hilarity in the unfolding events. He arched an eyebrow at her. Their confused looks only served as fuel to the fire, and Donna laughed the harder.

Suddenly, to Donna's relief and surprise, the Doctor's solemn expression melted into a grin. And then the grin cracked into a smile. And the smile gave way to a tremendous bark of laughter. His mouth hung wide open, and his whole skinny frame shook with giggles that he must've been trying to force down this whole time.

Their laughter bounced off the walls, rocketing around the metal hallways. If there was some real, capable-of-killing-them-easily danger that lurked somewhere nearby, then they had just given themselves away. Their potential element of surprised had just been ruthlessly murdered.

But at the moment, thoughts like these didn't matter. For the first time in this awful, surreal day, Donna Noble and the Doctor had finally found something worth laughing about.

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**Just a little insight into Donna's thought process during **_**The Runaway Bride**_**. The Segway scene where she bursts out laughing…that had to be the least convenient time for any of them to start laughing.**


	16. Prompt 44: Caught in the Act

***Continues to type prompts even when I'm famished***

***Listens to Peter Hollens as I type, because Peter Hollens is awesome, and you should look him up on Youtube if you don't know who he is***

***Continues to describe all that I've been doing while I was typing, even though it's a useless and slightly annoying process***

**God bless and have a great day (or night)!  
ThePro-LifeCatholic**

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**Writing Prompt #44: Caught in the Act**

**Characters: **Amy Pond, Clara Oswald, Rose Tyler, Jack Harkness, 11th Doctor, 10th Doctor

**Shippings: **Implied Jack/everyone, Rose/Doctor

**Genre: **Humor/Friendship/Mystery

**Rating: **K

**Prompted by: **Lalalala

**Summary: **How about, like, Rose, Amy, and Clara meet? And then Jack shows up. That would be totally hilarious!

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"Oooooooooooh…" Clara moaned softly as she lowered herself into the Jacuzzi. Hot water splashed around her feet, soaking her one-piece red swimming suit. With a sigh, the brunet let her body relax. Warm water rose to her neck, and jets of hot water shot out of the walls, causing bubbles and white froth to form.

The Doctor had promised her a week here, at the least. Clara closed her eyes, letting the water slosh over her shoulders. All of that running and adventuring took its toll on the poor human; the Doctor didn't seem to remember that she wasn't as physically fit as he was. A relaxing dip in a Jacuzzi was just what her aching muscles needed.

A splashing noise caused her to crack open brown eyes. Next to her, a tall ginger was stepping into the pool. She glanced Clara's way; Ms. Oswald smiled in greeting.

"Hey," she said.

"Hi." The redhead let out a sigh as she sat down on the Jacuzzi step. "I needed this," she nearly groaned. Her words were dominated by a very Scottish accent.

"Tell me about it," Clara laughed. For a while, the two women were silent, enjoying the Jacuzzi.

"I feel like I've run several 5-K races in a row," the Scottish woman stated to no one in particular. Clara looked over at her.

"Same here." She smiled fondly and shook her head. "And it's not even me who's getting involved in the first place! I've got a friend who seems to instigate most of the running."

"I totally understand what you mean," the redhead responded. "He's all like, 'let's see the sights! It'll be fun! It won't wear us out!' I honestly don't know what he's thinking half the time. No matter where we go, trouble and running usually follow."

"I can sympathize," Clara answered. "Clara, by the way."

"I'm Amy."

"What's the name of your friend?"

"Ummm…" Amy paused. "His name's John Smith. How about you? You with anyone?"

"Yeah, actually." Now it was Clara's turn to stop and think. "His name's…Archibald. I call him Archie for short."

"Mind if I join you?" a new voice queried. Clara and Amy turned to see a blond-haired girl in a pink, one-piece swimsuit standing almost directly behind them.

"No, not at all!" Amy replied, scooting over. Warm water rippled as the newcomer splashed heavily into the Jacuzzi.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah." She exhaled loudly. Clara and Amy looked at each other, smirked, and turned to the stranger.

"Let me guess," Clara probed. "Experienced some stressful or super active episodes lately?"

"Oh, yeah." The new girl had an estuary accent. She laughed, wide lips pulling into a smile. Golden hair stuck to her shoulders in stringy wet strands. "I've been doin' a lot of runnin' around lately."

"Welcome to the club," Amy noted. "I'm Amy."

"Clara Oswald," Clara put in.

"I'm Rose. Rose Tyler."

"Traveling with anyone?" Amy wanted to know.

"Yeah. I'm with a guy…John Smith."

"Really? Me too!" Amy exclaimed.

For a moment, Rose looked like a deer caught in the headlights. "Well…" she said uncertainly, "John Smith is a very common name."

"Yeah, it is, isn't it?"

And awkward silence fell. Clara closed her eyes, her mind racing. Three women, all traveling with a male companion, in need of a break because of physical strain? It couldn't be anything more than a coincidence…could it?

"Hey, ladies."

Rose moaned and turned herself around. Water sloshed out of the Jacuzzi onto the tile. "What d'you want, Jack?"

"I thought you were with John Smith," Amy said, suspicion underlying her statement.

"Jack's my other friend," Rose explained.

"Nice to see you, Rose." Jack was on the shorter side, with a stocky, firm build. Laughing eyes, sparking with mischief, looked down at the three. "And who are your friends?"

"Don't even start," Rose reprimanded him. Jack's mouth turned down in a frown.

"You sound just like the Doctor," he complained. "Between you and him, how am I supposed to make any acquaintances?"

"I'm sorry," Clara piped up. Three pairs of eyes turned to her. "Did you say 'the Doctor'?"

"Yeah. Friend of Rose and mine. He's wandering around here somewhere, doin' who-knows-what." Jack caught the warning in Rose's eyes too late. "Oh…uh…" his stuttering died out.

Amy's expression was a mixture of shock, suspicion, and curiosity. Clara's eyes darted from one face to the other. _He really did just say 'the Doctor'…didn't he?_

"Claraaaa!" a familiar voice called. At the same time, Clara and Amy stood up, trying to locate the direction the voice was coming from. They froze, looking at each other.

"Amyyyyyyyyyyy!" the same voice cried, coming nearer.

"I'm in here!" Amy yelled in response. Footsteps approached the pool room. Jack and the three women stood, tense and dripping wet (with the exception of Jack).

The green swinging doors crashed open, and a man in a red bowtie and tweed jacket entered the pool area. He swung out his gangly limbs, brushing back dark brown hair with one hand as he walked.

"I know what I said about you being able to relax in the Jacuzzi for at least one hour undisturbed," he was saying, "but something very curious and potentially deadly has sort of popped up, and I was wondering if you could just join me upstairs for…" The rant tapered to a stop as the Doctor caught sight of Rose and Jack. He came to an abrupt halt. He blinked his eyes, rubbed them, and blinked again. But the two figures didn't disappear. Stepping forward slowly, gingerly, the Doctor pocked Jack square in the chest with one finger. Jack raised an eyebrow in response.

"Well, then." The Doctor rubbed his hands together, quite at a loss for words.

"Hey, Clara!" The green doors opened again, and the Doctor burst upon the already quite confusing scene. He adjusted his bowtie, and his purple coat billowed out behind him as he walked. "I've picked up some very strange readings in this hotel. I don't know what's causing it, but I may need your assistance…" He froze, staring first at Jack, then at Rose, then at Amy, then at himself.

"What…?" he squeaked. "What's going on?!"

"Rose," the younger Doctor murmured, his attention still entirely focused on his two past companions. He didn't realize how much he had missed the yellow-and-pink girl, nor the immortal man.

"Rose, Jack, you in here?" One more man was going to join the awkward party. The Doctor, complete with trenchcoat and sandshoes, bounced over to the pool. Since he didn't know any of the other people in the room, he wasn't quite as fazed as anyone else was at the moment. The two other Doctors, on the other hand, stared at him as if he were some sort of rare alien (which he was, but that was beside the point).

"Well…then," the Doctor in the tweed said, glancing at the assembly. "I certainly hope this is it."

"Who are all these people, then?" the Doctor asked, fishing a blue sonic screwdriver out of one of his pockets.

"Nice bowtie," the Doctor commented, gesturing to the bright red accessory around his past self's neck.

"Thanks," the Doctor responded. "It's cool."

Amy, Clara, Jack, and Rose exchanged confused and slightly-weirded-out looks.

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**There you go, ****Lalalala****! I hope you will enjoy this. I tried to do your prompt justice.**

**And to you other readers: I hope you like it, as well. See that little box just below the chapter? You can type a little review in there. It makes my day. ;)**


	17. Prompt 34: Forced to Fight Teammate

**I watched **_**42**_** a couple nights ago…one of the best **_**Doctor Who **_**episodes in my opinion…right up there with **_**Midnight.**_

**Anyhoo, I got this idea for a "what-if" scenario for **_**42**_**. Basically an excuse for some Doctor!Whump. I tried to keep it as in-character as possible, just with a slightly different outcome. Hope you guys enjoy!**

**God bless and have a great day (or night)!  
ThePro-LifeCatholic**

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**Jesuslovesmarina:**** No one gives Jack a break. Not like he deserves it. ;)**

**ErinKenobi2893:**** Jack probably jumped in later, after the Doctors dragged all the companions off to try and fix the problem. He probably didn't even take his clothes off. Later on, other people come in and give him odd looks, wondering whether or not he fell in or not.**

**AliceinHyrule****: Welcome to the story! **

**Yeah, for future reference, feel free to submit requests in your review. Speaking of requests, I will get to yours soon!**

**Chicascoming:**** I also extend a greeting to you! I hope you stick around. And your request is amazing. I'm really looking forward to writing it.**

**Lalalala****: I'm glad I did your prompt justice! If you want to ever request more in the future, feel free to do so. I'm not limiting it to one prompt per reader. XD**

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**Writing Prompt #34: Forced to Fight Teammate **

**Characters: **10th Doctor, Martha Jones, mentions of Riley and Scannell

**Shippings: **None

**Genre: **Hurt/Comfort/Friendship/Angst

**Rating: **K+ - mild T

**Note: This is a "what-if" scenario. I took some elements from **_**42**_** and changed it. I looked to two elements in particular: what if the sun particles got more control over the Doctor than what happened in the episode, and what if Martha went back to him instead of helping Riley and Scannell dump the fuel?**

**What if?**

* * *

_Burning, hurting. They took the light. They took our heart. Give it back. Give it back._

The Doctor can hear the words pounding against his skull. The screaming doesn't stop; it grows in intensity. He drags himself across the floor, scrabbling to hold onto whatever sanity still remains within his mind.

_Give back what they took. Share the light. Share my-our-pain. The pain is ours. Make them feel it._

_**Burn with me.**_

* * *

"Martha!"

Martha Jones freezes. Her breath comes in deep gasps. Perspiration is sliding down her face and neck and back. Her clothing is soaked through and she _stinks_. But despite the present moment, despite the imminent doom that's facing her and the remaining survivors of the crew, she hones in on the Doctor's voice. It crackles over the intercom. She can hear his pain, although she can't see his face.

"What're you doing?!" she nearly screams. He should be lying in the Medcenter, resting, fighting the sun.

"I can't control it." It's a simple, cold-hard fact. He wretches, spitting the words out one by one. The sun is burning through him, and his singed brain is crumbling. Everything he is, his thoughts, his emotions, his identity is being burnt to crisp.

"Give it back," he heaves, his voice echoing in his ears. "Give it back or…" he pauses, cracking open his eyes. Chocolate-brown irises are completely replaced by intense light.

_**Burn with me.**_

"_**Burn with me, Martha.**_" The words hiss like steam.

For a moment, Martha is petrified. Go to Riley and Scannell; that's what the Doctor wants her to do. But what if he needed her? She remembered him on the floor of the Medcenter, groping wildly for her arm.

"Where are you Martha?!" The child-like plea, the terror of being stranded alone with the sun inside him, he _needed_ her. Having something he cared for close…it had seemed to help slow the process, at the least.

As the intercom shuts off, she catches the start of an agonized scream. Her heart stops, and her breath catches in her throat. It takes her less than a second to make her decision. She wheels around, leaving the main deck behind her.

Riley and Scannell had each other. The Doctor needed her now.

* * *

Slowly, the Doctor's scream tapered into a groan. He had no strength left to cry out, let alone fight the searing heat.

White light shrouded his vision, but it was giving way to spots of red and yellow. Heat signatures. Without his eyes, he could still "see" in a sense; he was now intensely aware of the heat radiating off any object nearby.

Rage, pain, and terror continue to pump through him, replacing his other emotions, clouding his memories. Every gasp burns his throat and nose.

Inch by inch, he drags his beaten-and-bruised body across the filthy metal floor. Using nearby pipes for support, he struggles to his feet.

_**Make them feel my pain.**_

The Doctor turns in a circle, taking into account everything that was near him. Nothing living, not that he could sense.

_**If they don't give it back, then they must burn.**_

_** They must burn with me.**_

"Doctor?"

The Doctor tilted his head, trying to locate the sound of the voice. It's a voice that he recognizes. It's the voice of his companion, his traveler, his…friend.

But if she is not trying to return the heart of the sun, then she is no friend.

No friend of the sun's.

The Doctor moves toward the voice with sore, disjointed limbs.

* * *

When Martha saw the Doctor approaching her with eyes still shut tightly, she paused.

"You shouldn't be up and walking around!" she reprimands in a shaking voice. He didn't respond. Instead, he continued to come closer, hands feeling along the walls.

_**"Martha…"**_ he said.

"What?" Martha asked. She wasn't prepared for the phrase that followed her name.

_**"Burn with me."**_ The Doctor let go of the wall, staggering towards her.

"Doctor…" Martha stepped backwards, panic replacing her initial concern. "Doctor, snap out of it. You hear me?"

_**"You will not give it back," **_the Doctor growled, his voice deep…different, changed. _**"You will not dump the fuel. The sun is dying. It's screaming! And you're standing here, letting the torment continue!" **_The last words ended in a shout, and the Doctor banged his black-gloved fist against the wall. The pound echoed around the hallway.

"We're trying to," Martha tried to assure him…or rather, what was currently occupying his body and mind. "We just need a little more time. Just let him go!"

_**"Can't you hear it? The screaming?" **_

Martha glanced past the Doctor, towards the empty doorway. She tried to dash past him, but his arm shot out just as she moved. She struggled against his burning grip, but it was like iron. He turned his head towards her, and she felt suddenly cold.

His eyes were still shut.

_**"Don't you want to hear it?" **_he queried, stepping forward. Martha backed up until her back brushed against the metal wall of the ship.

_**"You don't want to hear the screams?" **_Was the sun mocking her? She couldn't tell.

"Doctor, listen!" she begged. "It's me, Martha. Your friend. Please, you don't want to do this. You'll never be able to live with this!"

_**"None of us will," **_The Doctor/sun stated.

"The fuel!" Martha screamed at the top of her lungs. "DUMP THE FUEL!" She hoped that Riley and Scannell could hear her. It was up to them now.

_**"Burn with me," **_the Doctor commanded.

Martha Jones forced herself to look right into the Doctor's face.

"It's not your fault," she chocked. "Just…know that, OK? None of this was your fault." Wet, salty streaks lined her cheeks; whether they were sweat or tears, she couldn't tell.

The Doctor stepped closer, forcing her up against the wall. One hand still held her arm securely. He opened his eyes. It wasn't the soft, sparking brown. Martha was staring into intense whiteness. But she didn't shy away, even when the heat grew more and more unbearable. Even when she was certain that she was going blind. She needed to look at him, to let him know that she didn't hold this against him.

She needed him to know that he was completely, absolutely forgiven.

At that moment, the ship lurched.

"Crisis averted. Crisis averted," an automated voice declared. Martha caught the words, and for a moment, she felt happy.

_At least Scannell and Riley might make it out alive._

Suddenly, the Doctor buckled. He folded nearly in half. His mouth opened, and a scream was torn from his throat. The white in his eyes grew stronger, stronger…and vanished completely.

He gasped for breath, leaning all of his weight forward, nearly crushing Martha's arm in the process. His grip loosened, and he glanced up at her. He blinked, trying to clear his foggy vision. His poor singed mind was struggling to regulate his body temperature and put together the memories of most recent events. Thank goodness Martha was there with him to support…

He froze. Despite the fact that he was still burning up inside, he felt his body turn to ice. His eyes widened, and the weight of what he had just done...what he had been about to do, crashed down on him. With a shaky breath, he lurched away from Martha, onto the floor. Without another word, without a look in her direction, he curled himself into a ball.

Martha herself was still registering the fact that she wasn't dead. It took her a moment to hear the muffled heaving of the Doctor, to see his shaking form.

Then she was at his side, grabbing him up and leaning him against her arm. And he sobbed into her soaked shirt. Hot tears burned her shoulder as she rocked him back and forth, whispering consolingly.

"It's alright…shhh…it wasn't your fault."

He opened his mouth, wanted to apologize. But his throat was too parched, too dry. He wanted to push her away. The irrational side of him, still consumed by mind-numbing panic, shuddered to think that he could threaten her again. But he could only cry, clinging to her, reassuring himself over and over and over again that she was still alive. She was alive. He was alive. They would be fine.

It took a long time before he finally stopped sobbing.

* * *

"Guess we didn't need you in the end, did we?" Martha asked playfully once they were back on the TARDIS. One look from him was enough to sober her.

"Sorry," she mumbled, berating herself internally for her stupidity. If she could go back in time, she would've bitten back those words for sure.

Her thoughts were interrupted by something shiny dangling in front of her. A key. A TARDIS key.

"Thank you," the Doctor was saying, She took it in her hands, examining it. Then she smiled fondly, glancing up at the Time Lord.

"Don't mention it," she responded.

He grinned, then turned to the TARDIS controls. A new adventure, a new danger. They would never speak of this again. All was forgiven, but it would never be forgotten.

Seared in their minds forever, like the burning heart of a sun…

But best not to dwell on that.

Onwards and upwards. Allons-y.

They would be fine.

He would learn to forgive himself. He always did.

Or at least, he could pretend quite convincingly that he had.


	18. Prompt 47: Attacked by a Mutant Monster

***Types one-shot on laptop as I sit through a three-hour car ride***

***Finishes extremely long one-shot in two sittings on the same day***

***Is so proud of self***

***Continues to type in first/third-person narrative, even though it's probably annoying the heck out of my audience***

**Here you go! I'm sorry your prompt took a while to get written. I was thinking about it a lot during the past few days, but I've just now been able to sit down and type it. Labor Day equals a three-day-long weekend. **

**Anyone else out there taking advantage of this (too) short break to catch up on poor, neglected stories?**

**God bless and have a great day (or night)!  
ThePro-LifeCatholic**

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**Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who. I don't own Build-a-Bear Workshops. I don't own any malls, be it past, present, or future. All I own is my laptop and my story ideas. I mean, I'm pretty sure you all know this stuff already…but at least now I can't be sued by anyone for plagiarism. I'm broke anyway, so suing me won't even get you anywhere in life.**

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**Prompt #47: Attacked by Mutant Monster(s)**

**Characters: **10th Doctor, Donna Noble

**Shippings: **None

**Genre: **Adventure/Humor/Friendship

**Rating: **K

**Summary: **What about the doctor has to defeat evil teddy bears?  
With Donna.

**Prompted by: **Chicascoming

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The Doctor absent-mindedly hopped from one foot to another. He rolled his eyes, letting a sharp grunt escape through his mouth and nose. Around him, people passed by in small groups, in pairs, or even alone. He scrutinized their faces, trying to determine where they had come from, what their careers might be, what they had bought (he was no Sherlock Holmes, but he was probably the closest that anyone came to being him).

"'Take me shopping, Doctor!'" the skinny alien muttered under his breath in a (very badly done) falsetto. "'We won't take that long, Spaceman. Just give me an hour or so. No running, no life-and-death, just shoes and clothes. Even you could handle that for a bit.' Yeah, Donna. That's what you said _3 hours ago!_" People walking past shot the Doctor odd looks as he continued to grumble to himself.

"Oi!"

The loud, guttural sound caused the Doctor to start and wheel around. Behind him stood Donna Noble, in the flesh. Shopping bags dangled from her arms like branches on a tree. She raised an eyebrow at him, lips puckering slightly.

"What're you doing?"

"Me?" the Doctor asked innocently, pointing at himself. "Nothing! I'm doing nothing…_still_." He put some extra emphasis on the "still". Donna merely shook her head, grinning a bit.

"Well, you can help me carry my things." Despite the Time Lord's half-spoken protests, Donna pushed several of the heaviest bags into his arms. He glowered at her, but this only issued a laugh from his companion.

"Are you almost done?" he wanted to know.

"Yes, Spaceman. I'm almost done." Donna turned on her heel and started walking, the Doctor dragging his feet along behind her.

"We've been in this mall for _three hours_," he reminded her. His rubber soles squeaked loudly as he shuffled them along the shiny white tile floor.

"I'm gonna tack on an extra 15 minutes for every complaint," she replied, not even looking behind her. The Doctor's frown deepened, and he seemed to shrink back into his trenchcoat, like a turtle into its shell.

They passed by rows of shops. Signs set up in front of the entrances proudly proclaimed the amount of stuff they were selling. The Doctor inwardly groaned whenever Donna's pace slowed, and had to hold back a sigh of relief when she walked on, uninterested in the items being advertised.

When they passed by the Build-a-Bear Workshop, the Doctor paused and looked in. Small outfits were hung up in the glass windows, perfect for any kind of weather. His sharp eyes took in every detail, and he couldn't help but marvel at how well the miniature outfits and accessories had been crafted. There was something about small things and little details that tickled him and caught his fancy. Unnoticed by the Doctor, Donna sidled up next to him, her shoulder nearly brushing his own.

"Thinkin' about getting a teddy bear, Doctor?" she asked teasingly.

"Of course not!" the Doctor huffed indignantly. "I was just…browsing."

"Browsing?"

"Yes! Isn't that what people do in a mall?" He turned abruptly away from the display. He could feel his face growing hot, and he desperately hoped that he wasn't blushing. A commotion from within the store stopped the two in the middle of their conversation. Loud, angry-sounding voices carried to the entrance, growing into shouts.

"Just hand over the money!" a male voice demanded hotly.

"Do what he says, and nothing bad has to happen," another voice (female this time) asserted. The Doctor and Donna smashed their faces up against the glass, peering past the outfits and teddy bears. At the front desk, a young couple was staring down the cashier, who was shrinking back behind the counter. As they spoke, the woman pulled a strange-looking gun from her purse, pointing it at the cashier.

"HEY!" the Doctor yelled, bursting through the front doors. The boy and girl jumped, taken completely by surprise.

"We've got some unexpected company, Dan," the woman pointed out.

"Think I didn't see that?!" the man snapped. The Doctor ran forward, Donna right on his heels.

"Now, Kray!" Dan exclaimed. The girl shot the blaster in the general direction of Ms. Noble and her friend. Grabbing her shoulders, the Doctor pulled the ginger-haired woman to the ground. The badly-aimed blast rocketed over their heads, hitting the shelves of stuffed bears behind them. Toys crashed to the ground, flung in all directions. Kray and Dan dashed towards the front of the store. The sound of shattered glass contributed to the confused chaos.

The next moment, it was all over. The Doctor waited several tense moments to make certain that there was no immediate danger. He let his breathing slow down, and waited for his hearts to stop pounding. Then he got to his feet and offered a hand to his still shocked companion.

"Are they gone?" was Donna's first question. The Doctor nodded, looking around at the damage that had been caused.

"Looks like it," he answered. He kicked several of the bears out of the way as he ambled to the front of the store. One of the windows had been broken, and shards of glass littered the walkway outside of the shop. When he turned back to Donna, he saw that she had gone directly to the shaken cashier. Poor thing. She looked quite young, and she seemed close to tears. The Doctor smiled softly. When you first met Donna Noble, you'd never think that she was the caring type. But here she was, fresh out of a possibly deadly situation, and the first thing she did was go to the aid of another person.

"Did they take anything?" Donna was asking.

"N-no," the woman sniffed. "But they threatened me with that gun…wanted all the money…and I didn't know what to do…this is only my first week on the job…"

"Hey, hey." Donna brushed the brown hair out of the cashier's face. "Everything's all right now. They won't come back. We're gonna stop them, and make sure that this doesn't happen again, aren't we, Doctor?"

"Of course we are," the Doctor assured the two women. "In fact, we're gonna start right now." He motioned to Donna. "Come on. Better get a move on. Don't wanna lose 'em."

"Alright," Donna replied. "You'll be fine," she said, squeezing the girl's hand. Then she stood up and began picking her way through the maze of teddy bears.

"Doctor."

The Doctor sighed. "What is it now, Donna?"

Donna was standing stock still, staring at the ground. If they had been in a cartoon, her hair most likely would have been standing on end.

"Doctor, that teddy bear just moved on its own."

The Doctor raised an eyebrow at his companion. "Donna, there's no way that a stuffed toy could move…" his criticism died into silence and he blinked. He rubbed his eyes and looked again. He could've sworn that one of the toy bears had lifted its arm in the air.

"Over there!" Donna shrieked, pointing. One of the bears was picking itself up, teetering on sausage-like legs. And another. And another.

An army of small bears were standing up and tottering around the floor of the store. The Doctor and Donna glanced at each other, both of them trying to comprehend the strange turn of events.

"We-e-ll…" the Doctor mused. "This is certainly…odd."

Donna had recovered from her initial shock, and now she bent over to examine the bear closest to her. "They're kinda cute," she said, reaching a hand towards it. The bear regarded her silently with unblinking glass eyes. Then it threw itself at her face. Donna screamed and bounced back. As if by an unspoken cue, a dozen or so bears scrambled towards her, latching onto her legs and trying to climb up her body. The Doctor leaped to his companion's aid. Flinging the stuffed animals off of her, he grabbed her hand and dragged her out of the store. The bears streamed out behind them, running, tripping, crawling after them at an impossible speed.

"They're _teddy bears!_" Donna squealed, looking back over her shoulder. "We're gonna be killed by _bleedin' TEDDY BEARS!"_

One of the bears launched itself at them, and it managed to snag the Doctor's sleeve. The Doctor attempted to shake it off. When it didn't budge, he pulled harder. With a ripping noise, the bear finally let go, falling back into the horde.

The Doctor and Donna stared at the fuzzy arm that the Doctor had ripped off of the animal. Stuffing spilled out of the open end.

"Right, then," the Doctor muttered. He tossed it behind him. "Maybe it's some form of temporary animation?"

Donna could hardly care about _what_ had caused it. Right now, she only cared about two things: how long this was going to last, and finding out the weakness of the killer stuffed animals. She was snapped out of her thoughts by the Doctor flinging bags – her _shopping bags_ – at the teddy bears.

"WHAT. ARE. YOU. FLIPPIN'. DOING?!"

"We need to hold them back!" the Doctor responded, sounding borderline desperate. Donna's face flushed and paled. Biting back a stream of livid and not-quite-appropriate language, she allowed her hot anger to give her an extra burst of speed.

Dan and Kray were gonna get it bad. If they didn't, then she would take it out on the killer toys. Not one of their stuffed, makeshift minions was going to be left in one stitched-up piece.

And the Doctor? Well, she already knew the perfect punishment for him.

She'd just have to make another mall-stop.

* * *

** Well…this is really, really, **_**really**_** long.**

** I hope you guys don't mind.**

** So…yeah.**

** Enjoy, I guess. And leave a review, letting me know what you guys think.**

** *slinks away***


	19. Prompt 97: Caught in a Trap

**Welp, I keep thinking about different moments in Doctor Who that are like **_**other**_** moments from Doctor Who…**

** …It's a bit wibbly-wobbly.**

** So that's where the inspiration for this next one-shot comes from. Hope you guys enjoy. :) **

** God bless and have a great day (or night)!**

** ThePro-LifeCatholic**

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** Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who or any of its characters. If I did, Ten would've come back for several other episodes, or something. How many years has it been now, and I'm still not quite over him yet?**

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**Chicascoming: ****You are very welcome! If you ever think of another prompt, feel free to ask me. I loved the one you sent me, by the way. It was a lot of fun to write.**

**ErinKenobi2893****: Yep. Donna and the Doctor. One of my favorite duos on the show, actually. And I will get to your prompt as soon as possible. Also, I can totally see the Doctor Who characters quoting **_**Princess Bride**_**. It's a movie that suits them wonderfully!**

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**Writing Prompt #97: Caught in a Trap**

** Characters: **11th Doctor, Clara Oswald, mentions of Rose Tyler, Donna Noble, and 10th Doctor

**Shippings:** None, unless you want to squint really hard and imagine 10/Rose

** Genre: **Friendship/Hurt/Comfort/Angst

**Rating: **K-K+

* * *

"I…I don't know where I am. I don't know where I am!"

The Doctor's long fingers danced across the keyboard. He could still hear Clara's frightened voice ringing in his ears.

"Help me! I don't know where I am…"

On the other side of this laptop, somewhere quite far away no doubt, someone was attempting to steal this girl's essence. Her identity. The Doctor's stone-set face glared at the screen; just the thought of such a deed was enough to kindle his fury.

The keys under his hands clicked and clacked at an impossible speed as he typed. Words and alien symbols flashed across the screen in a whirl of lights. He hunched forward, eyes flickering as the words spun by. His fingers tapped on the keys, a blur of frenzied activity.

_"Doctor! Doctor! Doctor!"_

The Doctor found himself thinking about _her_ as he typed. He could see it perfectly in his mind's eye. He remembered seeing her faceless, alone, after she had been thrown into the street. The black-and-white image of a 20-some-year-old girl staring out at him. He could feel the barely-contained rage that had pumped fire through his veins. He hadn't been able to hear her voice, but she had been calling for him. _For him._

Just like Clara – that impossible girl – was doing now.

"I don't know where I am!"

He wondered if that's what Donna Noble had been thinking after she had been "saved" by the library, with her face plastered to a mechanical device.

"Help me!"

Memories flooded his mind, fueling him, pushing him on, making his fingers type faster than ever before. Seconds dragged as he worked to save her, a girl he barely knew.

Finally, the downloading process stopped. Then it began to reverse. The Doctor leaned back, letting out a shaky breath, and realizing just then that he had been holding his breath that entire time. He creaked down the stairs, stopping in front of Clara's body. He laid a hand to her head. She was definitely in there, unconscious but safe.

He smiled fondly as he brushed back her brown hair. Then he lifted her up gently and carried her to the bed upstairs. After tucking her in and providing her with flowers, a glass of water, and some jammy dogers, he parked himself outside her house in the parking lot. She was safe now, but he'd stick around to make sure that the situation was really and truly taken care of.

He'd watch over her. It's what he'd done in the past, and he certainly wasn't going to change that now.


	20. Prompt 85: Dangerous Flood

** So I was watching some parts from **_**Partners in Crime**_** this morning, and one of those scenes that I re-watched was Donna dangling for her life from the side of the Adipose building. And as I watched, I was struck by something that I can't believe I hadn't noticed before. And that was the Doctor basically screaming at her to 'hang on'. And I think we all know who else he said that to…**

** So that's where the inspiration for this one-shot came from.**

** So…yeah.**

** Enjoy, I guess (maybe).**

** God bless and have a great day (or night)!  
ThePro-LifeCatholic**

**Also...about the title of the prompt. I think I was going more for a flood of emotions, memories, etc. But I'll shut up now and let you read it, m'kay?**

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** Disclaimer: Guess what I still don't own? That's right. Doctor Who and any of its characters/planets/filming sites/etc. Shocker, isn't it?**

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**Writing Prompt #85: Dangerous Flood**

** Characters: **Donna Noble, 10th Doctor, mentions of Rose Tyler

**Shippings: **implied 10/Rose

**Genre: **Hurt/Comfort/Angst/Suspense-ish

**Rating: **K-K+

* * *

One moment they had both been standing inside the metal container, trying to get the window open. He had been using (or rather, attempting to use) his sonic screwdriver. When that hadn't worked within the first 3 seconds, Donna Noble had taken the situation into her own hands.

"Smash it then!" she had proclaimed, procuring a wrench from somewhere and beginning to beat against the thick glass.

The next thing the Doctor knew, the floor under his feet dropped. The broken piece of cable flashed past him, looking not unlike a long, black snake. He slammed hard against metal, his feet bracing to keep him from keeling out into the night air. It took him a second or two to recover from the shock; he could hear his hearts pounding in his ears and adrenaline flooded his system, causing him to shiver slightly.

"DOCTOR!"

The Time Lord peered over the side of the metal wall, brown hair tingling as it met the rush of cool night air. It only took a moment for him to fix his eyes on the thrashing figure beneath him.

_Donna._

Dread froze his joints; his hearts had left his chest and were now choking his windpipe. He groped the empty air with one arm, despite the knowledge that they were too far apart from each other to join hands.

"HANG ON!" The two words left his mouth as more of a scream than anything else. Was he trying to console his new-found friend, or was he merely trying to assure himself that he could rescue her?

"I…AM!" The reply came without a pause. Oh, Donna Noble. Even in a life-or-death situation, she was still able to shout back at the world. She could fall to her death at any moment, and she was still going to make certain that she had the last say about the matter.

But her quip, which might've been funny at any other time, wasn't even registered by the Doctor. He could see _her. _The last time he had told anyone those two words, it had been to a yellow-and-pink human who was in danger of letting go. He could see her face clearly, etched with terror, as her grip on the handle loosened.

The Doctor pulled on the cable, his whole body tense and strained. His breath sounded loud and shaky in his ears; his chafed hands burned and stung from being wrapped too tightly around the metal rope.

The sonic pen! Of course! Some quick thinking and very good timing…and it was in his grasp.

"I'll be right back!" he shouted down at her. _Please don't let go. Please don't let go. Please don't let go…_

A desperate burst of manic energy catapulted him down the stairs. His trainers slapped hard against the surface of the stairs.

The Doctor charged down flight after flight. In his mind, he was seeing bleached walls and bright white lights. His stinging hands balled into tight fists around the sonic devices, a grip tighter than when he had been holding onto the giant magnet. Rose's scream echoed in his ears, her last look back at him when she no longer had the strength to hold on haunted his every thought.

He flung open a door, closing the distance between the window and himself in several long bounds. The sonic pen shook in unsteady hands as he worked open the glass panel. Then he wrapped his stiff arms around the dangling legs, trying to shout reassurances at the screeching woman outside. She kicked wildly, trying to break free, but he held tightly to her with an iron grip. The Doctor's need to hold onto her, to never let her go, was more of a deranged, obsessive obligation now than anything else.

_He couldn't let go. He wouldn't let go. Not again. Never again. Just hang on._

He couldn't live to see it all happen again. To watch someone slip from his grasp, falling into the emptiness, the nothingness, into death itself was something he couldn't bear to live with twice.

The next thing the Doctor knew, Donna was safely on the ground. She brushed down her outfit and smiled up at him, letting him know that she was going to be fine. He could only manage a grin in return; immense relief flooded him, making him feel dizzy and giddy. Then her hand was in his, and they were running, side by side. He blinked violently, trying to ignore the unshed tears that blurred his vision. But the Doctor took care not to let Donna see. He squeezed her hand a little more, just to make certain that she was still right behind him.

_Just hang on…Just hang on…Just hang on….Just hang on…Just hang on…Just hang on…Hang on…_


	21. Prompt 81: Stealth Mission

**This prompt is actually a headcanon which my sister and I support with flying flags, and it seems quite fitting that it was she who requested the prompt.**

**THIS IS IMPORTANT:**** My sister (the one who helps me make up stories/poems/all that jazz) has an official account on this site! Her username is ****SimmonsButterflys****, and she is writing and posting her own stuffez now.**

**In fact, she started posting a Wholock crossover that she and I made up together. It's called **_**The Case of the Dying Detective**_**, and I strongly suggest that you go read it and leave a review. Then go read her other stories while you're at it. :)**

**Welp, that's my biggest bit of news for you guys. Now, onto the prompt itself!**

**God bless and have a great day (or night)!  
ThePro-LifeCatholic**

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**ErinKenobi2893****: I sent you a PM about your DW rut…I don't know if you saw it yet. Perhaps my suggestions gave you some inspiration; if not, then I hope by now you've managed to figure out how to escape your writer's block.**

**Yay! More regeneration fluff!**

**And don't feel offended about trampling my feelings with your prompts. Isn't that what angst is **_**supposed**_** to do? So you get points for getting that across to your readers! *thumbs up***

**And thank you, thank you again for putting up with all my prompts and crazy fangirling over your one-shot ficlet. **

**JesuslovesMarina:**** Thank you for the great feedback (as always). I know! They're so similar. I can't believe it's taken me this long to figure out the parallels between those Doctor Who scenes!**

**Oh, yes; the 100****th**** Anniversary of Doctor Who…in 12-D! All 57 Doctors, too, which is cool and brilliant and fantastic and all that great stuff.**

**QueenAnneTudor****: Interesting prompt. I'll definitely see what I can do with it.**

* * *

**Writing Prompt #81: Stealth Mission**

**Characters: **11th Doctor, 12th Doctor, Clara Oswald

**Shippings: **None

**Genre: **Humor/Friendship

**Rating: **K

**Prompted by: **SimmonsButterflys

**Summary: **No matter what the Doctor says, Clara can never seem to come up with good fake titles. There's one that follows him like a curse, and it's quite possibly the worst undercover name that anyone could ever have in all of time and space.

* * *

There's an old Earth saying that goes along the lines of: "You don't make the same mistake twice". This is a saying that's full of wisdom, as well as truth. Once you know how a situation plays out, and what you need to do in order to improve and get it right the next time, the chances of you making the same slip-up the second (or third or hundredth) time around drop significantly.

Unless, for some reason, you happen to be Clara Oswald.

* * *

_During one of Clara's and the Doctor's adventures…_

The last time the Doctor and Clara had to go undercover at a hotel, his stressed companion had come up with the most ridiculous name in the whole of time and space for him: Archibald Wallace O'Halley*. However, that had only been once, and the Doctor was certain that she could improvise something better this time around.

To be perfectly fair, that had been one of Clara's first undercover missions in her entire life, so it was only natural for her to feel some pressure during the whole ordeal.

"Ready, Clara?" he whispered to the brunet standing next to him. She was clinging tightly to his arm and glancing at the life forms that surrounded them.

"As ready as I'll ever be," she murmured in response. "You know, other than the fact that someone in this building is an assassin in disguise who would probably kill us both if he knew who we were."

The Doctor grinned, not seeming to pay attention to the last part of Clara's answer. "Wonderful! Now, come on!" He pulled her along, weaving his way between groups of chattering aliens. It was only when he caught sight of a tall, female humanoid in a bright red dress that he came to an abrupt halt. Tapping on her shoulder, he bowed low and kissed her hand.

"Hello, Mrs. Matera," he said. The woman regarded him coolly.

"_Miss_ Matera," she replied.

"Oh." The Doctor was somewhat flustered by her uninterested, contemptuous attitude, but soon shrugged it off. "I heard something about a runaway assassin," he whispered, leaning close to her ear.

Matera raised an eyebrow. "Yes; and you are?"

"Um…" the Doctor paused, looking towards his companion. "This is Miss Winfield…"

"…And he's Mr. O'Halley!" Clara broke in. Matera now had both eyebrows raised. The Doctor coughed and shuffled his feet.

"Yeees…Mr. O'Halley…" he breathed. Clara looked down at her shoes, hoping that no one could see that her face had turned as red as Ms. Matera's dress.

* * *

_During another adventure…_

"Now, Clara," the Doctor was saying, "I need to get into your school for just a minute or two, or possibly a day. Probably a day."

"A whole day?" Clara shook her head. "You'd have to be registered staff or something like that."

The Doctor grinned, pulling out the psychic paper and waving it in front of her. "I've got a school pass," he stated happily. Clara shook her head again, but couldn't help smiling. There were times when he acted just like a 5-year-old.

Later on in the day, Clara and the Doctor happened to run into the school principal.

"Hello, Clara," he said cordially, shaking her hand. "And who's this, then?"

"Oh, I'm part of the newest staff," the Doctor explained, adjusting his bowtie.

"Yeah, he is," Clara commented. "Archibald O'Halley; best there is when it comes to…janitors." She forced a wide smile, hoping the principal would buy into her lie. The Doctor glared at her out of the corner of his eye.

* * *

_Yet another adventure…_

"We would have the Doctor's head for what he's done," hissed the alien. It was a truly revolting thing, all forest-green and slimy, with bulging eyes and five tentacles. It slapped one of them against Clara's face, leaving a bit of alien gunk on her cheek. The brown-haired girl cringed, but couldn't run away, seeing as she was restrained by chains.

"You're making a big mistake!" she cried out, struggling against her bonds. "That's not the Doctor! You've got the wrong man!"

The alien tilted its head toward her, a flicker of confusion crossing its face. "If that'sss not the Doctor, then how is he, pray tell?"

Clara blinked, mouth open. For a single terrifying moment, she was caught in the headlights, mind blank. In the background, she could see her friend being dragged towards a vat of the green slime. According to the Doctor, that stuff was poisonous when too much was saturated by the skin. Her mind races as she tried to come up with a believable excuse.

"He's…uh…the Doctor's…twin…brother!" Clara stuttered. The aliens paused, still holding the struggling Doctor.

"Yeah, that's right," Clara continued, gaining confidence. "He's Archibald O'Halley…the Doctor's older twin brother!"

"Twin?!" the Doctor gawked.

* * *

_Clara and the Doctor adventuring (still)…_

"Hello," the Doctor said as couples began boarding the famous intergalactic Love Cruise, "Hope you enjoy your cruise! My assistant and I will be happy to help you with anything you may need during your trip." He gave the aliens a winning smile.

"Yep," Clara piped up. "If you need anything, just talk to me or Mr. O'Halley. Any trouble, just give us a shout." She grinned brightly. As the couples moved off down the deck, the Doctor faced his companion.

"Are you just calling me that on purpose now?"

* * *

_Another time…_

"Excuse us!" The Doctor ran up to the nearest officer, holding up his psychic paper. "We need to get past those doors. Special maintenance issue, we heard, and here we are." He gestured to himself and Clara, who was right on his heels. The security officer took the paper, looking it over. Finally, he nodded, handing it back to the Doctor and stepping away from the door.

"All yours, Mr. O'Halley," he said. The Doctor opened his mouth, shut it, and raced through the doors. Once he and his companion were inside the room with a deadly bomb ticking down to zero, the Doctor yanked out his psychic paper and glared at it.

"Come on!" he shouted at it. "Clara didn't even say anything this time!"

* * *

_Bonus: 12 and Clara_

The Doctor was trapped, and Clara had no idea how to save him. There was a steel wall between him and her, and she didn't have any tools to get to him. The TARDIS had been taken away and locked in a separate room (she didn't know where). Even if she had known, she couldn't fly it alone! Sonic screwdriver was with the Doctor, but the one door in and out of his cell had been deadlocked. Clara was left, stranded on a hostile planet, with no getaway options and no ideas. There was only one thing for it; she'd have to convince the alien species (Tellian, the Doctor had called them) to let him go.

Although how she was going to manage that, she had no idea.

With shaky hands and shallow breaths, she approached the two burly Tellians standing outside the steel room.

"They're a distrustful species, Clara," the Doctor had explained to her as they stepped out of his ship and onto the surface of Tellia, "If you refuse to answer their questions, or if they feel that you're withholding information, you're immediately sentenced to prison."

Apparently, Tellians considered it distrustful if the only name you gave them was "the Doctor". They had trusted Clara enough to leave her be. And now, that might be the only thing to get the Doctor out.

"What do you want, Clara Oswald?" one of the Tellians asked her as she approached.

"My friend," Clara began. "He's a nice, trustworthy person. Could you please let him go? This was just a misunderstanding."

"How can a willful lie be a misunderstanding?" the Tellian guard replied gruffly. Clara sighed, racking her brain for an alternative way out.

"Listen, if I tell you his name, will you let him go?" She looked from on Tellian to the other, trying her best to sound and look as honest as she possibly could. The guards gazed at each other, not quite sure how to answer the question.

* * *

_After the Doctor was released…_

"How did you persuade them to let me out?" the Doctor questioned. Clara grinned mysteriously.

"Oh…I made a bargain with them."

The Doctor frowned suspiciously, eyebrows drawing together in attack formation. "What bargain, Clara?"

"They agreed that if I told them your real name, they'd let you go," Clara called back. She skipped ahead, picturing the Doctor's confused expression.

"What did you tell them?"

Clara looked over her shoulder to see that the Doctor had stopped walking. He was giving her a look that she couldn't decipher. She turned, walking back over to him, feeling like a small child waiting for a scolding.

"I told them your special name," she said slowly. The Doctor's expression changed to confusion, then realization and annoyance.

"Oh, no, Clara; you _didn't_!"

Clara laughed. "What did you expect?" she teased.

"For the last time…my name isn't-"

"Apologies again, Archibald Wallace O'Halley," a passing Tellian said just at that moment. The Doctor glared at the alien's back and Clara slapped her hand to her mouth, trying unsuccessfully to stifle her giggles.

"Well," she gasped, laughing between words, "At least your accent fits your name this time!"

The Doctor stalked off in the direction of the TARDIS.

* * *

**That was super long…I hope you guys don't mind.**

**SimmonsButterflys** **actually has an OC named Matera...and she wears red. I couldn't think of anyone else to insert into the fic, so I just used one of my sister's characters (you know, since she requested this prompt and all). But Miss Matera isn't mine.**

***For the first reference of this name, go to Ch. 8.**


	22. Deadly Game or Ten Little Travelers

**OK…so apparently, Agatha Christie wrote this one mystery book titled **_**And Then There Were None**_**, and according to my sister, it's a freaky read (but well-worth it). And not only is it a freaky book to begin with, but there's a creepy poem in the story itself that describes how ten characters in the book end up dying one by one until there's no one left.**

**So, then she and I did the only logical thing after learning about this information: we made up a creepy parody of the already creepy poem-thing that appears in the mystery book.**

**Here, then, I present to you: my own Doctor Who parody of the poem from **_**And Then There Were None**_** by Agatha Christie. **

**My sister, ****SimmonsButterflys****, did her own parody, and it can be found in her Doctor Who one-shot story (sometime)…which I can't remember the title for right now. I don't know. Go check out her account and find it yourself.**

**My sister's and my parodies are based on the events of the episode **_**Midnight**_**, which was one of the best episodes of NewWho (in my opinion). Period.**

**God bless and have a great day (or night)!  
ThePro-LifeCatholic**

* * *

**The poem that my parody is based on is called "Ten Little Indians", for those who'd like to look up the original.**

* * *

**SimmonsButterflys: ****You…**_**do **_**realize we live in the same house, right? I don't see why you feel a need to comment on something I've written when you could've done it just as easily in-person.**

…**Um…**

…**Huh…**

…**Right.**

**Jesuslovesmarina:**** I haven't seen any season 9 trailers yet, sorry. Yes, Clara is definitely a goofball!**

**ErinKenobi2893:**** I know what you mean about not posting stuff. School's been so hectic; I think I'm just now beginning to establish some sort of schedule, and we're already into the third week of school! **

**I can totally picture the Doctor messing with a toaster. Could you write something for it sometime in your prompt story?**

**Or…maybe…if you didn't mind…could I write a little scenario based on the toaster scene in your comment? Please?**

* * *

**Writing Prompt #67: Deadly Game**

**Or**

"**Ten Little Travelers"**

**Characters: **All _Midnight_ characters (except Donna and Rose)

**Shippings: **None

**Genre: **Mystery/Suspense/Terror

**Rating: **K+, perhaps even mild T

**Format: **Poetry

* * *

_Ten Little Travelers,_

_Who think everything is fine;_

_They break down in the middle of Nowhere._

_And then there were Nine._

...

_Nine Little Travelers,_

_Growing tired of the wait;_

_The cabin's torn to tiny shreds._

_And then there were Eight._

...

_Eight Little Travelers,_

_With Fear their first expression;_

_An unwanted Guest knocks on their doors,_

_And then there were Seven._

...

_Seven Little Travelers_

_Grow tired of the tricks._

_A Lady screams: "it's come for me!"_

_And then there were Six._

…_.._

_Six Little Travelers_

_Who want to stay alive;_

_A Goblin comes to sow its seed_

_And then there were Five._

...

_Five Little Travelers_

_Who look towards the Door._

_Whispers creep inside their heads,_

_And then there were Four._

…

_Four Little Travelers,_

_One final, desperate plea._

_The Cleverest Voice is stolen,_

_And then there were Three._

...

_Three Little Travelers_

_With one Thought of what to do;_

_They all turn on the Voiceless Man,_

_And then there were Two._

...

_Two Little Travelers,_

_Who know what must be done._

_They take their place among the Diamonds_

_And then there was One._

...

_One Little Traveler,_

_Who was shriveled by the Sun._

_The Unwanted Guest is killed and gone_

_..._

_And then there were None._


	23. Prompt 82: Portal to Somewhere

**Hey, all! I've returned! I'm still alive!**

** SO…other than not-writing, I've been doing schoolwork, and Pinterest, and all that jazz. Trying to stay on top of schoolwork is hard, but I'll make it. I'm doing pretty well in my classes so far, so that's good.**

** And I watched the trailers for Season 9 (I know the Christmas Special is now out on Netflix, but I haven't watched it yet…so no SPOILERS).**

** And I also watched the season premiere of **_**Agents of Shield**_**, which was awesome and heartbreaking and full of tense excitement. But no May yet. Don't know why she's not around, but I'm thinking it may have something to do with her husband.**

** Anyhoo, here's the next prompt. And I should warn you: it's pretty long. This one had more details and little aspects and a sort of prelude that I felt I needed to cram into one prompt.**

** I mean, everything I write is long, so I'm assuming that you all aren't really that surprised.**

** So…yeah.**

** Story time.**

** God bless and have a great day (or night)!  
ThePro-LifeCatholic**

* * *

**Disclaimer: I don't Doctor Who, or its characters. I own the kids (sort of) that appear in this one-shot, as well as their names. Please ask me before you use them (you know, if you ever did want to use them in your own stories).**

* * *

**NOTE ABOUT THE PROMPT: This is based on a little headcanon that my sister and I have that, when the 11****th**** Doctor regenerated, his consciousness was uploaded to the Library, and he got to stay with River Song. For more insight on that, you can check out the chapter "The Doctor Has Been Saved", which is found in the story titled **_**A Look into the Mind of a Whovian**_** by ****SimmonsButterflys**** (who is my sister, for those of you who don't know).**

**OK…NOW the story.**

**For real this time.**

**Thanks for your patience (again).**

* * *

**Writing Prompt #82: Portal to Somewhere**

** Characters: **Pete Tyler, Tentoo, Rose Tyler, River Song, 11th Doctor, Jennifer Suzan Tyler, Rosalin Suzanna, and Arthur Winston

**Shippings: **11/River, Rose/Tentoo

**Genre: **Family/Friendship

**Rating: **K

**Prompted by**: QueenAnneTudor

** Summary: **Can you do a one shot where River and Eleven meet Tentoo and Rose where both couples have a child? Would be fun to see the dynamic.

* * *

"Hey, Dad," Rose Tyler said as she walked through the front door of Torchwood Institute. The large building was a hive of activity, with people in varying outfits skittering to-and-fro.

"You said you needed somethin'?" the blond-haired girl prompted, looking to her father (who also happened to be one of the highest-ranking members of Torchwood).

"Yes, and thanks for coming so quickly." Pete Tyler glanced over Rose's shoulder. "Bot h of you," he clarified, flashing a brief smile at the Doctor. The said alien/human metacrisis acknowledged the greeting with a curt nod. He was clearly on-edge, but that was only to be suspected. No matter how familiar he got with this alternate version of Torchwood, the building and the people within would always remind him of white walls and human stupidity at its greatest.

"This is Torchwood?" a small voice piped up. Pete looked down, and smiled at the sight of his granddaughter. The small girl ran over to him, wrapping her thin arms around his legs. He stroked her whitish-blond hair, which had been pulled into a ponytail.

"Hey, little angel," he said, catching her up and spinning her into a hug. Setting her down, he smoothed out his suit and motioned for Rose and the DonnaDoctor to follow him.

"Fill us in," Rose commanded, falling into step behind her dad.

"You know the Dimension Cannon?" Pete asked.

"That was supposed to be turned off," Tentoo snapped, breaking into the conversation. "Didn't I explain how dangerous that could be if it was used in the future?"

Rose shot her husband a look with the message: _don't you think you might be going at him a bit harshly?_ The Doctor frowned in response, but relaxed and let his features soften.

"It turned itself on," Mr. Tyler continued, stopping outside a set of white double doors. "And it dropped off some…unexpected company."

"What do you mean?" Tentoo asked, glancing first at Pete, then at Rose.

"I think it would be better if you saw for yourself," Pete responded, pushing open the doors and ushering the three inside.

"Come 'ere, Jenny," Rose ordered, taking her daughter's hand. The little girl dutifully offered her mom an outstretched hand, skipping to keep up with the adults.

This room had been reserved for the Dimension Cannon especially, after the events with Davros, the Daleks, and all of reality nearly being extinguished forever. Perhaps members at Torchwood felt more at ease with the device being locked in a room by itself, with nothing else to tamper with it (even though it technically shouldn't be able to work anymore, since the walls between realities had been fixed and stabilized). But when Rose, the Doctor, and their daughter peered inside, it was apparent that it was, incredibly, on and functioning. The machine shook slightly, emitting a low, steady thrumming. Standing next to it, taking in their surroundings, were four people. Two of them, a boy and a girl, were children, looking to be about Jenny's age. One of the party, a gangly man with floppy brown hair, was busy pointing a silver-and-green object at everything in sight.

Rose tensed up, placing herself between Jenny and the strangers. But when she glanced at the Doctor, she saw that his face was frozen with shocked confusion. His mouth parted slightly and his eyes, wide and round, were fixed on the woman standing next to the children.

"What is it, Doctor?" Rose whispered.

For a moment, the Doctor didn't respond. He gulped, blinked. Then he spoke. One word dropped into the pool of tense silence like a stone.

"River."

The woman started, wheeling towards the entrance. The children and man followed suite.

"Oh…" the bowtie-bedecked stranger murmured, eyebrows lifting slightly. He glanced at the device in his hand. "How'd we get here then?" he asked no one in particular.

"Where are we, Daddy?" the little girl demanded. She looked to be about Jenny's age, and was clearly the eldest of the two children. She stood protectively near her younger brother, brushing her long, reddish, curly locks from her eyes.

"You're in Torchwood," Rose supplied, stepping forward. "I'm Rose Tyler, and this is my husband, the Doctor."

"Torchwood?" The man with the humming stick raced over to Rose, skidding to a halt only about a foot away from her face. "Husband? Rose? No! Yes! No? OH!" he danced backwards, whacking himself in the head. "But if…And he's…Then that can only mean…" he paused and pointed at the Dimension Cannon. "Is that a Dimension Cannon, by any chance?"

Rose was beginning to think that the trip had made these poor folks go mental. "Yeah…"

"Oh, that's brilliant!" The man was suddenly all smiles. He turned to River, catching her up in his arms and dipping her. After he had set his startled wife back on her feet, he motioned in the direction of Rose and Tentoo.

"River Song, meet the one-and-only Rose Tyler, Defender of the Earth, and her husband, who happens to be a biological metacrisis grown from my hand!" he wiggled his fingers in River's face for further emphasis.

"Rose Tyler? _The _Rose Tyler?" River was grinning now, too. "Oh, this is going in the journal!"

"Sorry; who are you, exactly?" Rose looked from River to her Doctor. "And how come he knows you're a metacrisis?"

The Doctor had been thinking this exact same thing, but now he was certain he knew what the explanation (the only explanation) could be.

"He's me," the Doctor said slowly, not taking his eyes off of the couple. "He's me from the future."

"Yes, indeedy!" The Doctor adjusted his bowtie and gave a small bow. "The Doctor, at your service, Rose Tyler. And this is my wife, River Song – she knows about you, because I told her. Sorry you two never got properly introduced – you know how it is with time travel." The Doctor brought forward the two children. "And these two are trouble incarnate; Rosalin Suzanna and Arthur Winston."

Rose and Tentoo looked from the children to the Doctor, then from the Doctor to River, then from River to each other.

"But how'd you get here?" Tentoo prompted.

"Oh, that." The Doctor shrugged. "That might've been me. See, in the Library, I was trying to see how far my TARDIS could go time-and-space-wise. There must've been a glitch in the system, allowing a temporary link between the world of the Library and your parallel universe." He sonic-ed the air again. "But it's very unstable. It's falling apart as we speak, so there's no need to worry about holes in the universe or reality ending. We'll be gone in only a few short minutes." After this spiel, the Doctor stuck his hands in his pockets and rocked back and forth on his heels.

"So…" he finally said. "While we're here, I might as well ask: how are things here?"

Tentoo nodded, allowing a small smile. "Things are going just fine."

"The TARDIS fully frown yet?"

"Not quite. Getting there. Can't wait to take little Jenny here with us." The metacrisis smiled down at the little girl at his side. "Jennifer Suzan Tyler."

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. "Tyler?"

Tentoo grinned. "Isn't that how it works?"

"Oh, yeah," both River and Rose affirmed simultaneously. They laughed, and their husbands exchanged sympathetic glances.

"Well, she's a beautiful thing," the Doctor commented. He crouched down to Jenny's level and waved. She waved back, then ducked behind her mother. Rosalin stepped forward, practically dragging her younger brother with her.

"I'm Rosalin," she stated. "This is Arthur, but he's too shy to talk to you."

River sighed, and Rose smiled. "She isn't afraid to say things as they are, is she?"

"Nope," the Doctor agreed, shaking his head. "She's gonna turn out just like her mother."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," River said. The Doctor chuckled and bopped her on the nose. At that moment, the Dimension Cannon sputtered and groaned. The family of four flickered in and out of focus, like a bad projection.

"Looks like the warning sign!" the Doctor said, backing up. "Connection's getting more and more unstable."

"Well, it was nice meeting you," Rose said, shaking hands with Rosalin. "You and Arthur are gonna be traveling in the TARDIS with your mom and dad, yeah?"

"Uh-huh," Rosalin nodded. "Daddy said he's gonna teach me."

River shot a glance at her husband, who raised his hands in the air defensively. "Hey! Don't look at me like that! I didn't _actually_ say that I was gonna teach her!"

Rose laughed. "I can certainly see who's the boss in your family."

Mrs. Song smirked. "I think I could say the same for your own little party."

Tentoo and the Doctor shook hands. "Wonderful getting to see you again, Doctor," the metacrisis said. "And good luck with raising your family. I'm glad it ended happily."

"Yeah," the Doctor agreed, smiling softly. "Same to you. Keep a hold on it, eh Jenny?" he stooped down and flicked some blond hair out of the girl's face. "Stay cool."

"Okay," she responded.

The Dimension Cannon vibrated, the thrumming sound becoming shifting to a high whine. There was a blast of bright light as energy flooded the room. Tentoo, taking hold of Rose's hand, dragged her and his daughter outside. Slamming the doors shut, they panted, standing in tense silence, waiting for the noise and light within to fade completely.

When they cautiously peered inside the room, it was empty. The Dimension Cannon stood in its place, smoking and once again nonfunctioning.

"Think we're ever gonna see them again?" Rose wanted to know. Her husband shook his head slowly.

"They fell through on accident," he explained. "Chances are, that was the one and only time we'll be able to meet."

"They seemed nice," Jenny piped up.

"Yeah, they did, didn't they?" Rose concurred.

"A family of his own, living a happy, long life," the Doctor murmured, stroking the Dimension Cannon. "A life he dreamed about so often, and now he can live it." Rose stepped forward, wrapping her fingers around his own. She glanced up at him, and flashed a wide smile.

"A happy ending at last," she whispered. He grinned, his whole face lighting up. He nodded.

"A happy ending at last," he repeated. He reached for Jenny's hand. Then together, the three walked out of the now-empty room, hand-in-hand.

* * *

**This was kind of long…hope you guys don't mind.**


	24. Prompt 41: Locked Out

**So lately…been wonderin'…how on Earth am I supposed to write stories when I have no time?**

**Friday morning…typing stuff while waiting for my first college class of the day to start.**

**I'm writing this prompt to the song **_**Bleeding Out**_** by Imagine Dragons, for those who might want to know. It's an awesome song to write stuff to (or just memorize and sing around the house).**

**God bless and have a great day (or night)!  
ThePro-LifeCatholic**

* * *

**Jesuslovesmarina:**** I don't see a problem with short stories, actually, if they're well-written. For instance, there's a one-shot ficlet that I'm following, called **_**The Adventures of the (not a) Martian and the (Best) Temp in Chiswick**_**. It's an awesome group of one-shots based on adventures of the Doctor and Donna Noble. And the author does take prompts.**

**ErinKenobi2893****: Oh, yeah. Slap fights for the win. XD Especially if Jack's involved, huh? Don't worry; I'll get to your prompt soon! And my sister and I agreed that if there was a food that gave 10 a sugar rush, it would be circus peanuts. If he eats more than a bag of circus peanuts in one sitting, then all hope for his sanity is completely lost.**

**Lovemuffin:**** Love the username, by the by. So sorry that this is late, but at least I got around to actually doing your prompt! Yay, me!**

* * *

**Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who or any of its characters.**

* * *

**Writing Prompt #41: Locked Out**

**Characters: **10th Doctor, Rose Tyler

**Shippings: **10/Rose

**Genre: **Hurt/Comfort/Friendship/Slight Romance

**Rating: **K, mild K+

**Prompted by: **Lovemuffin

**Summary**: The 10th Doctor becomes angry with Rose, and accidently does something that makes her run into the depths of the TARDIS- where she gets lost! Can the Doctor find her and make things right?

**Note: **This is going to be **Part 1.**

* * *

Rose Tyler didn't stop running, even when her breaths were coming as gasps. Not even when her legs, already sore from a full day of speeding around a planet on foot, felt like jelly. She spun on her heel, disappearing down another twist in the TARDIS hallway. Only after a few more minutes of desperate dashing did she finally come to a stop. Sliding down the green wall, she panted for breath, pushing her golden hair back behind her shoulders.

What had she done wrong?

Rose scrunched into a ball, feeling wet tears beginning to slip down her cheeks. Again and again she heard the Doctor's voice replaying in her mind; a broken track repeating the one bad song on a record.

_"What are you doing in here?"_

She could still see his eyes - usually so cheery and sparking with life – looking at her with a cold, dead stare. His hands balling into shaking fists; his face contorting as confusion and shock turned to livid rage.

_"No one is allowed in here."_ The Doctor's voice had been quiet, barely more than a whisper. But she could feel the force of his anger behind it. She had seen the hurt, the cold gleam of fury; he had looked…betrayed.

Rose sighed shakily as her silent tears ran their course. Even the familiar hum of the TARDIS sounded more like a buzz. No doubt the ship was simply mirroring the emotions that her master was feeling at that moment.

Never before had he lashed out at her like that. The fury of a Time Lord…he had only ever directed it at his enemies. Never her.

_"GET OUT!" The last phrase was almost a scream. He gestured sharply to the door. Without another word, Rose ducked past him and out of the room. Her quick pace turned into a jog, and then a run. Anything to get away from that awful situation. _

_ He didn't go after her._

Rose stood up and glanced around her. Now that she wasn't concentrating on her fallout with the Doctor, it didn't take too long for her to realize that she had no idea where she was. The TARDIS was a massive ship; and what was more, it was able to change out rooms and shift the interior around. Had she run for miles? Was she going in a circle? Which way was the way back out?

For a moment, Rose was struck with fear. Stuck in the largest ship in the universe, with no knowledge of her many passages and rooms. And if the Doctor was that angry with her, would he come to find her if she didn't show up? Fiercely, she shoved this last question aside.

"Don't think like that," she berated herself. "The Doctor's angry, but he'd never just leave you." Somewhat comforted by this fact, Rose took a deep breath and surveyed her surroundings again. OK. She was in a hallway. What else? There were several doors, both on the right and the left. Squaring her shoulders, Rose approached the nearest door to her left. It was the TARDIS, after all; what's the worst that could happen?

* * *

Rose Tyler might have smiled if she had known _why _the TARDIS had been buzzing. It was an aggravated noise, true. But it hadn't been directed at her.

"She shouldn't have come in here," the Doctor was saying. He was sitting on the tiled floor of a TARDIS room. It was a wide, circular room with a domed ceiling. The walls were painted an array of colors, but mostly oranges and reds, with splashes of gold and dark blue. And on every surface, etched carefully into the walls and roof, and even parts of the floor, were circles. Circles filled with lines and small symbols; the writing of the Time Lords.

The Doctor was tracing one of these circles with his finger as he spoke, seemingly addressing the nearest wall. Just as he finished his sentence, the TARDIS emitted another hum. To anyone who'd been traveling with the Doctor for a while, it would've become instantly apparent that the alien was conversing with the ship itself. He sighed, standing up and brushing off his brown suit.

"I don't know why she was in here, or how she even got here in the first place. It should be locked!"

Another hum from the ship.

_It could have been an accident. You know how your strays are._

"Oi! Rose isn't a stray!"

_If you don't know how or why she was there, then why were you so harsh on her?_

The Doctor, ever-ready with responses, opened his mouth, but had to shut it again. He paused, tapping his fingers listlessly against his thigh. The TARDIS fell silent, as if waiting for his answer. When he finally found words, they came out in an almost-whisper.

"You know why I got angry. Any other room; I wouldn't have cared. But this…" he broke off, unable to finish. The noise that followed this statement sounded like a mix between a croon and a purr. It was gentle, soothing, understanding.

_Go to her._

The Doctor ran his fingers along the carved words, tongue running over his teeth. Finally he turned, tilting his head up towards the ceiling.

"Alright. You win."

The TARDIS thrummed a deep, musical note. She sounded not only pleased, but also encouraging. Running his hands through his thick brown hair, the Doctor grabbed his trenchcoat from where he had let it drop in a rumpled heap on the floor. Then he stepped out of the room, making sure to lock the door behind him.

* * *

**To Be Continued…In Part 2!**


	25. Prompt 45: Lost

**In case you missed it in the last chapter, this chapter is a continuation of the prompt that I began. This is still following the request from ****Lovemuffin****.**

**So…Let's continue the adventure, shall we?**

**God bless and have a great day (or night)!**

**ThePro-LifeCatholic**

* * *

**Writing Prompt #45: Lost**

**Characters: **10th Doctor, Rose Tyler

**Shippings: **10/Rose

**Genre: **Hurt/Comfort/Friendship/Slight Romance

**Rating: **K+, mild T – **more mature thematic content**

**Prompted by:** Lovemuffin

**Summary:** The 10th Doctor becomes angry with Rose, and accidently does something that makes her run into the depths of the TARDIS- where she gets lost! Can the Doctor find her and make things right?

**Note:** This is going to be **Part 2**.

* * *

The Doctor's high-tops slapped against the metal floor, creating a methodical thumping that bounced off the empty hallway walls. His trenchcoat billowed out behind his skinny form like an iconic superhero cape. The Doctor's eyes were trained ahead, his hands stuffed in his pants' pockets. Mentally, he was conversing with Rose, trying to find the perfect words and how he should best go about apologizing for his actions. He slowed as he approached his destination; the door to Rose's bedroom.

He stood outside the door for several moments, staring at the spotless white wood and feeling the seconds drag by. As if to urge him on, the TARDIS gave a short, buzzing whine. The Doctor couldn't help the small grin. Taking a deep breath, he reached out a hand and twisted the knob. The door wasn't locked; it swung open effortlessly.

"Rose?" he called, peering into the darkened interior. When there was no response, he stepped inside, groping for the light-switch. When he found it, the room was flooded with light, and he had to blink a couple of times. As his vision adjusted, the Doctor scanned the room. He could see her bed (still not made from that morning), the nightstand, the dresser positioned against one wall. But he couldn't see Rose.

* * *

The said blond-haired girl had gone inside the TARDIS room nearest to her. Beyond the door (which was shaped like an oval for some unknown reason) she was greeted by a bizarrely beautiful sight. A garden stretched out before her, but the plants were certainly not from Earth. Flower-like plants towered above her, standing as tall as trees. Neon petals shivered on thick black stalks. Squat bushes were decorated with dark purple berries, and ivy crept across the ground, covering the short, prickly grass in a soft carpet. Rose had to stop and stare, taking in the strange and wonderful scene.

"I should go exploring more often," she said to no-one. If half of the TARDIS rooms were this beautiful, then she didn't see why she hadn't gone to new rooms before. Of course, she could plan a dozen expeditions for future days. Right now, though, she had an alien garden to enjoy. With thoughts of the Doctor momentarily banished, Rose rushed into the room, leaving the door swinging open behind her.

* * *

The Doctor's pace quickened. He descended a stairway, taking the steps two at a time.

"Rose?" he shouted. There was no response; only his own voice echoing off of metal walls. He frowned. His companion hadn't been in her bedroom, not the console room, not the kitchen. She didn't frequent too many other TARDIS rooms…so where could she be?!

He didn't doubt that he could find her. The TARDIS could easily direct him to her in a matter of moments. Why she wasn't helping him right now, he didn't know. Maybe she felt that, since he had gotten himself into this mess, he should be getting himself out of it. On top of that, the Time Lord had a sneaking suspicion that the sentient ship liked to watch him wander around like a clueless idiot. Probably something along the lines of keeping him humble.

"In the name of Rassilon…" he muttered, stopping for the umpteenth time to survey his surroundings. "You know, any time you'd like to start helping me, that would be great!" He said this phrase rather loudly, directing it towards the TARDIS. When he got no responding hum, he sighed.

"Right, then. If that's how you're gonna be. Rose!"

* * *

How long she had been the garden, Rose had no clue. The whole TARDIS seemed to be…timeless, for lack of a better word. However, it couldn't have been more than twenty minutes when she was struck with a sudden wave of dizziness and nausea. Clutching her stomach, Rose attempted to struggle to her feet. She had barely shifted when nausea struck again, followed by overwhelming malaise. Alright; maybe not moving would be better for right now.

* * *

"Roooooose!" the Doctor more drawled than yelled. It had been at least twenty minutes by now; he could've been fixing the TARDIS, or making banana cupcakes, or browsing through the latest metaphysics manuals from the 67th century. He sighed, thoroughly aggravated. Any more time, and he'd seriously begin to regret ever _trying_ to apologize to his companion. Let Rose sulk somewhere in the TARDIS for a few hours. See if he cared anymore.

The TARDIS broke into his skulking train of thought with a loud warning thrum. Of its own accord, a door to his immediate right slammed open. A trail of lights twisted out of sight down a hall. The Doctor stared at the new path, anger giving way to confusion. Then confusion turned to concern. He could think of only two explanations for the TARDIS' sudden impulse to help him find his companion: 1) the TARDIS had gotten tired of his futile attempts to find Rose on his own, or 2) there was suddenly a very important reason why he needed to get to Rose.

The Doctor broke into a sprint, his brown coat flapping out behind him.

"Rose!"

* * *

The plants blurred and melted together before Rose's eyes. She blinked and squinted, trying in vain to refocus. Every breath was short and forced; her throat felt thick and constricted. Despite the uncomfortable feeling that her lunch was going to make an appearance any second now, she knew that she had to get out of this room. Whether it was something in the air or given off of the plants, where ever it was coming from, she had to leave. Using a nearby trunk for support, Rose pulled herself to her feet with shaking arms. She swayed unsteadily, the garden around her pitching and swirling in a whirl of color. She staggered forward, unsure of where the exit was.

* * *

The Doctor rushed down the lighted path. His hearts hammered wildly in his chest; his throat and mouth had gone completely dry. His breath sounded harsh and loud to himself. The TARDIS was giving him all the assistance she could, opening doors and shifting rooms around to shorten his journey.

He was running so quickly that he actually sped past the partly opened oval door. When he realized his mistake, he skidded to a halt. His trainers squeaked loudly as he made a sharp U-turn, leaving black scuff marks in his wake. The Doctor backtracked to the doorway, and his hearts skipped a beat (or two) when he discovered which room Rose had entered. Grabbing the knob, he yanked open the door, rushing inside.

* * *

Rose shuffled forward several steps. Her stomach lurched and she doubled over, a stab of pain sweeping through her and leaving her breathless. Her legs gave way beneath her, and she crumpled into a small yellow-and-pink heap. Vaguely, she was aware of the sharp grass tips pricking her hands. As a haze clouded her mind, she could have sworn that she heard a voice calling her name from far away. She tried to answer, but wasn't sure if the noise from her mouth had been words or inaudible garbling. Black spots danced in front of her vision, blocking out the pretty splashes of orange and purple. In the back of her mind, a small voice insisted that she get up and get out. She made a few half-hearted attempts at movement, but her strength and willpower was gone. Slowly, slowly, she slumped forward, her body splaying out across the grass and ivy. Her eyelids fluttered shut as her breath came more sporadically and her heartbeat pounded faster and faster.

The last thought she had before unconsciousness took her was whether or not her mom would have liked the weather-predicting metal that she had just found for her at an alien bazaar.

* * *

**OK, you guys…I promise that this one-shot (which is now becoming a three-shot) will get finished. Just one more part to go. I promise. I'm not teasing.**


	26. Prompt 22: Falsely Accused

**Final part of this (extremely long) prompt. I must say I've had fun with this one. Originally, I had no ideas about it. Then one thing led to another, and inspiration came to me as I wrote it. So now we're gonna be wrapping up here with the final part, and then I can move onto other requests and prompts and stories that I should be updating (that I haven't updated in forever).**

**Thanks again, ****Lovemuffin****, for giving me such an awesome prompt!**

**On a brief sidenote, I met someone who is also on fanfiction. I can't remember his username for the life of me, though. Something with "Kai" in it. ANYhoo, he writes pokemon, anime, and X-over stories. Since I don't watch and/or read that stuff, I wasn't really able to read any of his material. However, for those of you who might be into that stuff, you could go looking for him. I'm sorry I can't remember his username, for those of you who might be interested.**

**AND GUESS WHO WATCHED THE NEWEST TRAILER FOR MARVEL'S **_**JESSICA JONES**_** NETFLIX SERIES?!**

**OH MY GOSH, YOU GUYS. If you haven't seen it, look it up. "Jessica Jones official trailer". Seriously. You don't need extensive knowledge about the Marvel universe to watch it. Just go see it. There is a scene between a guy and a girl which has me on-edge, but hopefully the show won't have too much of that stuff in the actual episodes when it comes out.**

**But I need to say right now that Kilgrave (aka Purple Man) looks like such an awesome villain. If the show is too explicit/violent/inappropriate to watch, I will be so disappointed.**

**God bless and have a great day (or night)!  
ThePro-LifeCatholic**

* * *

**Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who, or this prompt idea. I own the story behind it, yada yada, two-car garage, and all that jazz. And I own the planet that appears in one sentence of this prompt.**

* * *

**Writing Prompt #22: Falsely Accused**

**Characters: **10th Doctor, Rose Tyler

**Shippings: **10/Rose

**Genre: **Hurt/Comfort/Friendship/Slight Romance

**Rating: **K

**Prompted by: **Lovemuffin

**Summary: **The 10th Doctor becomes angry with Rose, and accidently does something that makes her run into the depths of the TARDIS- where she gets lost! Can the Doctor find her and make things right?

**Note: **This is going to be **Part 3 of 3.**

* * *

When Rose came to, the first thing she realized was that she was lying on a bed. The second thing she became aware of was that there was something sticking to her face. A momentary panic attack took hold of her, and she sat bolt upright. She scrabbled at the unknown object.

"Hey, hey! Whoa there, Miss Tyler."

_The Doctor._

Rose froze, relief flooding her at the familiar sound of her friend's voice. She allowed herself to calm down, taking deep breaths and looking at her surroundings. She was in her TARDIS bedroom, she discovered; in fact, she was lying on her bed right now. A chair had been placed right next to the headboard, and the Doctor was sitting in it at that moment, looking at her with those beautiful, chocolate-brown eyes.

"You've had a bit of a rough day, Rose Tyler. Take it easy." A flicker of concern flashed across the Doctor's face as he reached over, pulling the device away from her mouth. "Feeling better?"

Rose looked at him, puzzled. Then the memories came crashing down on her. Going into the "forbidden room". The Doctor finding her and yelling at her to leave. Rushing down the hallways, getting lost, and finding the room with the garden. Struggling to breathe and remain conscious as everything slipped away around her. She glanced at the object in the Doctor's hands, and saw that it was an oxygen mask. Rose chewed on her lip, processing the information. Finally, she nodded.

"Yeah," she murmured. "I'm feelin' a lot better. Thanks."

The Doctor's face cleared and he visibly relaxed and brightened. "That's a relief," he sighed, smiling. Rose smiled back, but the grin faded quickly. Silence settled between them. The Doctor shifted on his chair. Rose twisted a lock of hair around her finger and fiddled with the blanket. Then, as if by an unspoken queue, both of them made eye contact and opened their mouths.

"I'm sorry I went-" Rose began.

"Rose, I meant to tell you-" the Doctor started at the exact same time. Rose broke off into giggles. The Doctor cracked a goofy grin and looked down at his shoes.

"Me first," Rose said. The Doctor shook his head.

"No, Rose. It was my fault." He paused and sniffed. "If I hadn't gotten so angry, you wouldn't have run off, and wouldn't have gone into that room…" he trailed off, leaving the sentence unfinished. Rose stretched her hands out, gripping his arm and giving it a friendly squeeze.

"You didn't make me go in there," she said. "I shoulda known better than to go in. And I wasn't supposed to go in that room. It's your ship; you've got private stuff that no one else has a right to see."

"But you didn't know that," the Doctor broke in, pulling his arms away. Rose didn't know how to respond, so she decided to change the subject.

"So…was it something in the plants? Was that poisoning me?"

"Huh?" The Doctor frowned. "No, not the plants. Carbon monoxide poisoning, Rose. A gas that exists in Earth's air naturally, but in very low concentrations. That atmosphere in the room you went into was modeled after the atmosphere of Girgula, a planet with a much higher concentration of carbon monoxide. It's deadly to humans; the symptoms manifesting themselves as nausea, dizziness, shortness of breath, things like that. Enough exposure leads to coma and death." He shuddered at the final phrase, grimacing as if he had eaten a rotten banana. Rose was quick to reassure him, entwining her hand in his own.

"But I'm alright now, yeah?" she asked. The Doctor looked her up and down and grinned.

"Yep!" he popped the 'p' at the end. "Gave you some oxygen-rich formula," here he gestured at the mask, "And you've been resting for…oh…about two hours now. We-e-ell, more like two hours and fourteen minutes. We-e-ell, two hours, fourteen minutes, and thirty-nine seconds, to be completely exact." He tapped the side of his head. "Time Lord brain equals impeccable sense of time."

Rose laughed. It was good to hear the Doctor acting like his normal self again. She sobered up again almost immediately, looking him dead in the eye.

"I'm sorry, Doctor."

He smiled fondly, leaning forward and taking both of her hands in his own. "I know you are, Rose. And I forgive you. Can you forgive me?"

"Yeah, course," she responded. The Doctor stood up, brushing his hair back and adjusting his tie.

"Well, then. All's well that ends well." He started for the door. "Rest all you want, Rose."

"Doctor!"

The Time Lord faced his companion. "What?"

Rose twisted the blanket in her fingers and bit her lip. Should she ask? Did she have a right to?

"That room…" she faltered. "What…what are all those words?"

The Doctor's face hardened. He seemed to retreat back and down into himself, leaving a stony façade in his place. Rose flinched, expecting another outburst of ice-cold fury. But when he opened his mouth to speak, his words were so quiet that she had to lean forward in order to catch them.

"They're names."

"Whose names?" she ventured. He turned his gaze to the floor and swallowed several times. "Are they people from your planet?" she whispered. The Doctor nodded.

"Yeah. Were."

Rose pushed back the covers and slipped out of the bed. With a few steps, she closed the distance between herself and the Doctor.

"Did you carve 'em all yourself?" Now that she was right in front of the Doctor, Rose could see that his eyes were glistening with unshed tears. The corners of his mouth twitched, his lip quivered. Still trying to keep up a brave face, focusing only on Rose and her needs. He nodded, a quick, jerky movement that seemed to take a lot of effort.

"Yeah," he said again, sliding his eyes away from hers. "A billion, billion carved names." His voice broke then, shattering as the word "billion" slipped out of his mouth. Rose leaned forward then, opening her arms wide and inviting him in. For once he came forward willingly, allowing himself to be enveloped in her embrace.

He didn't cry, didn't sob out his life story, didn't reveal a single dark secret from his hidden past. They simply stood together, wrapped in each other's warmth, protection, and comfort.

Rose rubbed circles on his back, burying her face in his suit. They'd always be alright, her and the Doctor. Always there for each other, no matter what happened. Forever; they would be forever. But she pushed thoughts like these away from her mind. Why worry about tomorrow? This moment, now, was something to be treasured. Forever would take care of itself.

* * *

**And here we go, gang! Hope you all enjoyed. This is (really and truly) the last part of the prompt, requested by the amazing ****Lovemuffin****.**

**Again, thank you so much for the prompt idea, and feel free to request another prompt anytime!**

**And yes, I actually did do research on carbon monoxide poisoning. Those are actual symptoms. It sounds like a creepy experience; I for one would certainly not want to have that as a personal adventure.**


	27. Prompt 31: Costume Party

**Hello, wonderful readers!**

**Today, since I'm going to be busy for the rest of today and lots of tomorrow, I decided to write and post a little Doctor Who Halloween ficlet. I hope you guys enjoy it!**

**Just out of curiosity, is anyone out there in the world of internet going trick-or-treating dressed as a Doctor Who character, whether it be a companion, monster, alien, or the Time Lord himself?**

**God bless and have a great day (or night)!  
ThePro-LifeCatholic**

* * *

**Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who, nor its characters. If I did, then I would try to make some Wholock happen by now. Or WhoVengerLock…could you imagine the Doctor and Kilgrave meeting up? Now that's something I would want to see…**

* * *

**Jesuslovesmarina:**** Yeah…I had sort of intended that reaction. I really enjoyed writing that prompt, and going into a bit of Rose!whump and Doctor!whump as well. I haven't written the Doctor and Rose all that much yet (surprisingly), but I'm fairly certain I was able to give this story justice.**

**QueenAnneTudor****: You're very welcome! I'm still processing your next request, so just hold on. I'll find a way to make it work.**

**Lovemuffin****: You are most welcome! Like I said before, I had a blast fulfilling your request. Feel free to submit another one anytime!**

* * *

**Writing Prompt #31: Costume Party**

**Characters: **Rose Tyler, Jack Harkness, Mickey Smith, 9th Doctor, Martha Jones, Donna Noble, 10th Doctor, Amy Pond, Rory Pond (Williams), River Song, 11th Doctor, Clara Oswald, 12th Doctor

**Shippings: **Not really. If you'd like to imagine implied Doctor/Rose and 11/River, then go right ahead.

**Genre: **Humor/Friendship/Family

**Rating: **K

* * *

"Come on, Doctor!" Rose called, banging on the door. "Let's see what you've got for a costume!"

Ms. Tyler, Captain Jack Harkness, and Mickey (Rickey?) Smith were standing in a row, facing the door to the Doctor's bedroom on the TARDIS. They were ready for the Free-Candy Festival which the Doctor had mentioned, seeing as Halloween was only a few days away. And of course, one of the perks of having a time machine was that they didn't have to wait until October the thirty-first to start a candy collection.

Every one of them had gotten dressed appropriately for the occasion. Jack Harkness was dressed as a World War II army captain; he was wearing practically the same outfit that Rose and the Doctor had seen on him when they first met. He had considered an outfit with less…clothing, but his traveling companions had stood firmly against this proposition. In fact, the Doctor himself warned Jack that if he showed up to the party without wearing _at least_ the bare minimum outfit-wise, he wouldn't be getting any candy. Period.

Mickey had chosen to dress as a car mechanic, complete with the grey suit, toolbox, and black smudges on his face and hands. And although Rose had her suspicions, her boyfriend was adamant that he had chosen his costume on purpose. It most certainly _wasn't_ because the TARDIS had materialized unexpectedly while he was in the middle of a work shift.

Rose herself had decided to go all-pink. She was a fairy queen of some sort, dressed in a beautiful, yet simple, gown that sparkled and shimmered whenever she moved. The skirt ruffled out and twirled gracefully when she spun. Her blond hair was pulled back into a braided bun (her mom had helped with that aspect of the costume).

So the three musketeers of the TARDIS crew were ready and waiting for the party. And they were all eagerly awaiting to see what on Earth the Doctor would choose to dress up as. They had whispered amongst themselves, exchanging ideas and making bets on whether or not the Doctor would actually dress up, or if he had been pulling their legs this whole time. Their anxious waiting was at last put to rest, however, when the knob rattled and turned, revealing the time-traveling alien on the other side.

The Doctor certainly looked "smart", as Jack later put it mildly. Shiny black shoes were on his feet, with black pants, vest, and jacket to match. A crisp white shirt and bowtie completed the clothing aspect of his costume. But what gave the big clue as to whom the Doctor was posing as that night was the white half-mask that shielded a part of his face from view. In one hand, he held a blood-red rose.

"Oh!" Rose cried in excited realization. "You're the Phantom of the Opera!"

Jack grinned and applauded. "Nice outfit, Doc."

"Thanks!" the Doctor responded with a wide smile. He looked bouncy and happy; a mood which the other three rarely saw. He stepped forward with a flourish, nodding to Jack and Mickey, then offering Rose a sweeping bow.

"Now, my Angel of Music," he crooned, taking her hand in his own. "Let's see about that party."

"Right behind ya," she replied, following him to the console room.

* * *

"So what's he going dressed as?" Martha asked the red-head next to her. The two women were getting ready for a Halloween Masquerade, which was funded by UNIT. It was one of those few days where the hard-working members of that top-secret organization could kick back, relax, enjoy a drink, and spend time with their friends. Even family members could be invited.

Martha was putting the finishing touches on her own outfit. She had decided that Spectrum, a Marvel superhero with the ability to control energy, was the way to go. The Doctor had even supplied her with special props that lit up when she positioned her hands a certain way, to make it look like she was shooting white beams of "energy" from them. Even her outfit seemed to shimmer and crackle with power when she moved. Martha really had to hand it to the Doctor: he seemed to know what he was doing when it came to hardcore costume design.

"Oh, I don't know," came the response from the other end of the room. "Probably a stick insect."

Martha snorted, and Donna chuckled. The said ginger (and most recent companion of the Time Lord) was going as Beatrice, a character from the Shakespeare play _Much Ado About Nothing_ (the only play by Shakespeare that she actually read to the end and enjoyed)*****. But tease as they might, the two women were secretly very excited to see what the Doctor himself would dress as.

"As long as it doesn't involve something way over our heads, I'll be fine with it," Donna noted. Martha nodded.

"Or as long as it doesn't involve a vegetable," Martha said. "Did you know that he used to wear a piece of celery with one of his suits?"

"You're kidding!" Donna exclaimed. Laughing, Martha shook her head.

"It's true!"

"Oh, now _that_ I've gotta see."

"OI!" The Doctor's voice floated up to them from somewhere within the ship. "You're talking about me again, aren't you?"

"What's it to you, Spaceman?" Donna shouted back.

"At least we're not arguing!" Martha called.

The Doctor sighed dramatically from where ever he was, and the two women burst into giggles. Footsteps approached the console room, becoming louder as they got closer. Donna and Martha looked expectantly at each other. Here was the reveal at last!

"Hello!" The Doctor stuck his head around a doorway, then bounced energetically into the room. Donna's and Martha's expressions changed from excited anticipation to confusion. The Doctor wasn't wearing his usual suit, true, but he wasn't necessarily in-costume. He was sporting jeans and a t-shirt. His hair still stuck up wildly on his head, and red trainers were on his feet.

"Nice outfits!" he complimented, examining the handiwork of his companions. Donna and Martha continued to stare at him, trying to discern his outfit.

"Who are you going as?" Donna finally asked. The Doctor looked down at himself.

"I thought it was obvious," he said, gesturing to his clothes.

"No, it's really not," Martha commented.

"Really?" The Doctor ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "I'm going as a regular human!" he exclaimed.

Donna and Martha exchanged a look.

"Doesn't count," Martha said.

"What do you mean, doesn't count?" the Doctor demanded. "I'm an alien, dressing up as another alien. Totally counts."

"Not creative enough, sorry," Donna drawled, not sounded apologetic at all. "Go change."

The Doctor huffed and stalked out of the console room. No use in arguing with _those_ two. Donna and Martha waited for him to be gone before collapsing into a helpless fit of laughter.

* * *

Amelia Pond unsuccessfully tried to pull a deadpan glare. "What on _Earth_ are you dressed up as?"

"Oh, wow; thanks, Mrs. Pond!" the Doctor exclaimed, straightening his pointed hat. "You're so supportive. I thought you would get it right off!" He motioned to the long, wrinkled, grey tunic that dragged along the floor behind him when he walked. The sleeves were bunched up around his wrists; it was obviously apparent that the outfit was made for someone slightly taller and fuller than the Doctor. A satchel hung down to his waist, and a dark blue bowtie could be seen around his neck. He was sporting a matching grey hat, pointed at the end like a witch's cap. He glanced down at himself, then back at Amy. His companion looked as uncomprehending as she had a moment ago.

"You look like you decided to dress up as a sack," she commented, arms crossed. The Doctor folded his arms across his chest, frowning at his companion.

"No; that's completely ridiculous," he stated. "I'm going to the party as a _Space Gandalf_. Don't you remember when we were talking in the TARDIS together at night that one time?"

"We do that a lot, Doctor," the red-head pointed out. The Doctor was ignoring Amy's comments, however, and was now busily digging around in his satchel.

"And look at this!" he said excitedly, pulling a plastic lightsaber out of the bag. With a flick of his wrist, the green blade extended and started glowing. Grinning like a little kid, the nine hundred-and-something-year-old Time Lord gave the prop a few practice swings.

"Watch it!" Amy shouted, leaping back.

"And you think _my_ outfit's no good," the Doctor continued. "What about _your_ costume, eh? You're dressed as Santa, and it's not even November yet!"

"It's not a Santa outfit!" Amy huffed. "I don't know how many times-Look. I'm dressed as a Rockett. A _Rockett_, because I'm _tall_ and I have _long legs._" She threw her arms in the air. "How come no one gets that?!"

Just then, Rory Williams walked into the console room. The Doctor gave him one look.

"Rory, just _what_ do you think you're wearing?" he wanted to know. Rory stopped dead in his tracks and blinked.

"I'm…this is my costume," he began. The Doctor was already shaking his head.

"Noooo, Rory," he moaned (more whined). "You can't go dressed as a _nurse_."

"Uh, yeah, I can," Rory contradicted. "I have the outfit; I figured I would wear it."

"But that's your _work clothes,_" the Doctor said. "We're going to a party. You can't mix work and fun together; go change!" He waved dismissively in Rory's general direction. Mr. Williams glanced at his wife, but she wasn't coming to his aid. Finally, with a look of defeat, Rory turned and shuffled out of the console room. The Doctor and Amy were alone again.

"You could change your costume," Amy offered. The Doctor sighed and sat down on the white cushion.

"Already did once," he said. "I was going to dress up in an outfit I had before – all bright colors and a rainbow umbrella – but River locked herself in her room and wouldn't come out until I had changed." He shrugged. "Not really sure why. I rather like the outfit; I think the colors would look good on me."

"Not a chance, Sweetie." River Song herself stepped into the room. Her curly hair had been pulled back into a ponytail, and instead of golden-blond, she had dyed it temporarily orangey-red. Her outfit could only be described as eccentric: a dark blue dress depicting the solar system of Earth and its constellations, star earrings, and high-heeled shoes with small suns on their tips. A green lizard was draped over her shoulders. Amy immediately knew who her daughter was posing as.

"Ms. Frizzle!" she laughed. The Doctor frowned again.

"So you know her outfit right off, but not mine?"

River grinned smugly, blowing her husband a kiss. Rory, donning his Roman centurion costume, made a reappearance. He walked over to the Doctor for inspection.

"Oh, yes, wonderful. Much better!" The Doctor clapped loudly several times, then rushed over to the controls.

"But I wear this every year," Rory noted.

"Exactly!" the Doctor reasoned. "And you look cool every time, Rory the Roman. Don't see why on Earth you would think it a good idea to change it."

Rory rolled his eyes, glancing at his wife and daughter. They both flashed him wide grins. The Doctor yanked several levers and spun a dial. The floor swayed beneath their feet as the TARDIS engine wheezed to life.

"Geronimoooooooo!" the Doctor shouted gleefully. "Next stop, Halloween!"

* * *

"Wear the hat."

"No."

It was a tense environment. The suspension was so thick that someone could've cut it with a knife by now. The stare-down continued; an elderly man with grey hair and a dark suit glared down at the obstinate brunette, who was brandishing a top hat. This conversation had been going on in the same fashion for several minutes now, with pretty much the same wording from the start.

Clara Oswald shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Her Maid Marian costume was begging to get rather hot and itchy, and a crick had formed in her back from standing in one position for so long, but she wasn't about to stand down. She held the hat out to the man in front of her.

"Wear the hat, Doctor," she whispered menacingly.

Clara could be patient, yes, but two could play at this game. Did a schoolteacher honestly think they could outlast a two-thousand-year-old alien?

"For the last time, Clara," the Doctor said, pushing the hat away from him, "I said 'no'."

But Clara Oswald was firm. She had sworn to herself that she would get the Doctor to dress up. And he had wanted to take her to this party, hadn't he? Yes, he was a two-thousand-year-old alien, but did that make him think that he could outlast her? She was a schoolteacher, after all. She had gotten loads of practice when it came to stubborn people.

"You want me to go to the party," she hissed, "But I'm not going unless you go. And in order for you to go, you have to dress up. So, by default, if you don't dress up, then you don't go to the party. And if you don't go to the party, then I don't go to the party. So if you don't put this on, then I'm not going to a Halloween party." After this lengthy explanation, she shoved the hat practically in his face. "Put the darned hat on, Doctor."

The Doctor looked at the black object in Clara's hands. Finally, slowly, he relented. Reaching out to it, he plucked the hat from the young women's fingers and placed it on top of his salt-and-pepper curls. Clara grinned.

"Satisfied, Clara Oswald?" the Doctor inquired, feeling quite idiotic. To his disappointment (but not surprise), she shook her head and held out another costume accessory.

"You have to take this, too," she stated, handing him the black plastic stick. With a sigh, the Doctor took hold of the cheap wand. Stepping back, Clara crossed her hands and nodded, taking in her handiwork.

"No matter what you say, this doesn't make me look like a magician," the Doctor grumbled.

"Yeah it does," Clara said, chuckling.

"Are you finished?"

"Yeah, for now, anyway." She turned to leave, but stopped and looked back over her shoulder. "You don't happen to have a deck of cards on you, do you?" she asked playfully.

"Out," the Doctor snapped, moving to the console table. "Or you can just forget about going to that party."

"Alright, alright; I'm going." Clara moved to the doorway of the console room. She shot one last look behind her. "Happy Halloween," she said, before ducking into the interior of the ship.

* * *

***Catherine Tate did actually star as Beatrice in a more modern take on Shakespeare's play **_**Much Ado About Nothing**_**. That's what I used as inspiration for Donna's outfit. The others are pretty self-explanatory, I think.**

**Hope you all have an awesome Halloween and/or All Saints' Day!**


	28. Prompt 40: Injured

**I return with another prompt! A requested one this time, brought to you by the lovely (and amazingly, creatively talented)…****ErinKenobi2893****!**

**Seriously, if you've never read her material, go read it. I've only read her Doctor Who fanfiction, but she also writes some Star Wars stuff too, for those who are into that fandom. Also, she's done some WhoVenger stuff, and I think she's working on a WhoWars ficlet (Doctor Who/Star Wars crossover).**

…

**JK.**

**I don't know what that sort of crossover is actually called.**

**I just made up WhoWars.**

**Just now.**

**It sounded better than WhoStar, or StarWho.**

**I don't know what Doctor Who/Star Wars crossovers are called, though.**

**If there's a better name, let me know.**

'**Cause now I probably just sound like an idiot…**

**God bless and have a great day (or night)!  
ThePro-LifeCatholic**

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**Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who. Nor do I own the original prompt idea, which was supplied by ****ErinKenobi2893****.**

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**I WATCHED **_**The Magician's Apprentice**_** RATHER RECENTLY. OHMYGOSH. No one give away any spoilers, now. I'm gonna watch the one after it sometime soon (I hope...maybe tonight...we'll have to see...)**

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**Writing Prompt #40: Injured**

**Characters: **10th Doctor, Donna Noble, mentions of past companions

**Shippings: **None, unless you'd like to assume implied 10/Rose. I'm certainly not gonna stop you.

**Genre:** Hurt/Comfort/Angst/Friendship

**Rating: **K+

**Summary**: Okay. I'd like to read a story where Donna looks after the Doctor when he gets sick. (Call me odd for wanting all these sick-fics, but even Time Lords have got to get sniffles sometimes. :-P) Adorableness and use of nicknames (aka "Martian", "Spaceman", etc.) ensues. :-P

**Prompted by**: ErinKenobi2893

* * *

**NOTE: **This is **Part 1** of **2**.

And I changed up the prompt a bit. It started as something, then the idea sort of...mutated...and became this whole new circumstance. However, I was sure to include the fluffiness and friendship and name-calling, as you requested. :)

* * *

Donna Noble watched the Doctor the way an osprey watches the slightest ripple on the surface of a river. The Time Lord was stabbing at random controls on the TARDIS console, a distant look in his eyes. The events from their most recent adventure still racked at Donna's mind, and she wanted a more thorough explanation about any possible after-effects.

"Doctor?" she finally began. Her friend glanced over at her, shaken out of his thoughts.

"Yes?"

"That…that stuff you breathed in…was it dangerous?" Donna shuddered at the words as they left her mouth. She knew that the Doctor had the best intentions in mind, taking a dosage of some alien drug that had originally been intended to poison the young princess of Cragnoliaryanimolum and ministering it to himself. And of course, when Donna herself had been shoved into a small room that had been filled with that same drug (in gas form), the Doctor didn't hesitate to rush in there and pull her to safety.

She had known that there wasn't really enough time for other options. That didn't stop it from being an idiotic decision, though.

"What stuff?" the Doctor asked. Donna gave him a look, and his face suddenly lit up as his mind caught up to his mouth. "OH! Right. The gas. Yes."

Donna gasped. "It is?!"

The Doctor furrowed his brows together, his face scrunching up in confusion…then erupted in a large sneeze. He stumbled backward. Donna started forward, but he righted himself and shook his head. Then he faced his companion.

"What?" he finally asked. "What is?"

Now Donna was lost. "What is what?"

"What?"

"What?"

They stared at each other for a moment, completely clueless where the conversation had gone and not sure how to continue. Donna sighed, took a deep breath, and repeated her concern.

"Is the gas you breathed in poisonous?"

"Oh, right! Sorry." The Doctor nodded emphatically to show that he finally understood the question. He paused, coughing into his sleeve and then scratching the back of his neck before responding. "Short answer…yes."

Donna gasped, feeling faint. The Doctor rushed to finish his statement. "But what I meant to say was, we-e-ell, it's not that bad, Donna. Yes, I said 'poisonous', but the combination of gases that I took shouldn't be enough to seriously affect me. We-e-ell, I say "seriously". We-e-ell, not too seriously, at any rate. We-e-ell, hopefully. Most likely. For me, it'll probably be like having a bad human cold, or an equivalent of a fever. At the very worst, I'll develop mild flu symptoms." He spoke rapidly, managing to get all of his words out in a single breath. He watched as Donna processed what he had said, and smiled as she began to calm down.

"I'm gonna kill you, Martian," she fumed, anger replacing her initial worry. "If you think you can get away with scaring me half to death like that, then you've got another thing coming!"

The Doctor chuckled a bit at this statement, but choked and cleared his throat, rubbing his neck with one hand. Donna noted his sudden change in demeanor. "What is it now, Spaceman?" He gave her an almost apologetic look.

"Throat hurts," he stated concisely. "The effects aren't dramatic, but they sure are quick in coming." He paused and swallowed. Then he sniffed loudly. Donna rolled her eyes.

"You know what you need?"

The Doctor glanced at her, a wary look in his eyes. "A more sympathetic companion?" he ventured. Ms. Noble huffed and planted her hands on her hips.

"No, you great big dunce," she retorted. "You need some rest."

The Doctor sighed. "I don't need to rest," he said. Donna Noble, however, wasn't going to have any of that "superior-Time-Lordiness" crap that he usually tried to throw at her. She fixed him with a no-nonsense glare.

"Yeah you do, Sunshine. If you're gonna be sniffling and sneezing up a storm, then the best place for you is bed." She paused as a sudden thought stuck her. "Do you have a bed?" Come to think of it, she could never remember seeing the Doctor's bedroom in her explorations of the TARDIS interior. The Doctor huffed in response.

"Course I've got a bed!" he said indignantly. "Just 'cause I don't sleep as much as you doesn't mean I don't have a bedroom." He rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to the console, sniffing loudly several times. Donna sighed, pulling a tissue out of her pocket (always prepared) and dangling it in front of his face.

"Need this?"

He opened his mouth, no doubt to retort, but ended up sneezing instead. Grabbing the tissue, he pressed it against his face and coughed into it. Donna slowly crossed her arms and slowly raised an eyebrow, sending him a wordless message that he couldn't miss from a mile away. The Doctor held her gaze for several moments, but ended up relenting in the end. He dropped his eyes to the floor and cleared his throat several times.

"Maybe a little rest wouldn't hurt…" he conceded. Donna couldn't help the self-satisfied smirk of victory that flitted across her mouth. "But not for too long!" he exclaimed, pointing a finger at his companion. "I hate lying around and doing nothing. Need to busy, me." Now it was Donna's turn to stop and consider.

"If you need to do something, Doctor," she finally said, "then take a handful of trinkets with you to bed. I don't want to up and walking around, possibly getting me sick. Are you contagious?" The Doctor shook his head, then bent down and peered underneath the console. Donna watched and waited as her friend fiddled with a dial. Then he popped back up, his hand wrapped around a handful of colorful wires. A look that could only be described as disappointment flashed across his countenance.

"You're still here," he stated.

"Yup." Donna planted her feet firmly apart. "You. Bed. Now."

The Doctor grimaced and grumbled something that the red-head couldn't quite catch.

"What's that, then?" she inquired.

"Nothing," he muttered, thoroughly annoyed now.

"You know," she said, taking the wires out of his hand and placing them on the edge of the console, "for a guy with a sore throat, you've certainly got a lot of things to say." As she talked, Donna went around behind the Doctor, placing her hands on his back and pushing him gently towards the nearest exit. He resisted for a moment, tensing up and rocking backwards.

"If you fall on me," Donna warned, "you're gonna get it bad, Sunshine."

Finally, with wooden strides, the Doctor allowed himself to be led from the comfort of the console room. Together, the two figures ambled down a hallway covered in dimly glowing lights.

"So where's your bedroom, then?" Donna wondered. The Doctor shook his head.

"There's a comfy couch around here somewhere," he explained. "In a comfy room…there's a TV and blankets and things…you know, things for when you're sick, and you want to feel better…" his rambling died into silence and they shuffled the rest of the way in quiet stillness.

When they reached their destination, Donna had to agree with the Doctor; the room certainly was cozy. It was small and slightly rounded, with gently sloping walls in a dark-blue hue. Several large comforters were sprawled in the middle of a room, and a large television screen dominated one wall. A small cabinet was up against a wall, DVDs and books spilling out of its drawers and shelves. The temperature seemed to be regulated, also; not too hot, not too cold.

"Perfect," Donna said, examining her surroundings. The Doctor nodded in agreement.

"Course it is." He stumbled over to a large, chocolate-brown couch and flopped down onto its cushions. The furniture had looked soft to Donna, but she hadn't expected the cushions to partially swallow the skinny alien.

"You look ridiculous," she chuckled. He grinned in response, kicking off his shoes and pulling his legs up onto the couch.

"It's comfy," he stated, his voice sounding muffled. Scooching over, he patted the cushion next to himself. Donna came forward, shot him a suspicious glare, and settled herself gingerly onto the couch. Without trying, she sank into its soft texture.

"I need this couch in my house," she breathed. The Doctor snorted, a smile passing over his face.

"Wanna watch something?" he asked. I'm probably gonna to sleep a bit, so you can help yourself." To prove his point, the Doctor spread himself out across the surface of the couch, laying his head on the arm of the sofa. "Remote's in the left top drawer of the cabinet. DVDs…some from the past, some from the future, some from the present."

"Where're the blankets, then?" Donna wanted to know. The Doctor jerked his head in the direction of a small door.

"Closet. Blankets in there."

Donna left the Time Lord sprawled on the sofa, and fetched several large spreads from the closet. When she came back, he had left the couch, and was standing in front of the TV screen.

"Can't you stay still for three seconds?" she asked gruffly, trying to hide a smile. The Doctor returned to the couch with a meek expression.

"I was just setting up a film," he retorted, handing her the remote.

"What're we watching?" Donna inquired, elbowing the Doctor and making room for herself on the sofa. The Doctor sniffed and grabbed one of the blankets, throwing it around himself.

"_The Princess Bride_," was the response. The Time Lord drew the blanket closer to his form, only his head, fingers, and the tips of his hair sticking out from the cozy nest he had built around himself. Donna laughed at the sight.

"You're like a five-year-old!" she exclaimed. "And what's _The Princess Bride_ about, anyway? Never saw it before."

"Shhh!" the Doctor rasped. "It's starting." He sniffled several times, eyes glued to the screen. Donna shook her head, resisting the urge to flick the brown spikes of hair that poked through the blanket edge. She settled herself more comfortably on the cushion, draping her own blanket around her legs as the opening credits of the film began rolling.

"Whatever you say, Stick Insect," she murmured.

* * *

_To be continued…_


	29. Prompt 24: Character is Drugged

** Here's where the prompt-idea went a bit haywire and decided to write itself.**

**ALSO…**

**If you're trying to find the author ****ErinKenobi2893****, then I've been misleading you, my poor readers. Sorry. This amazing author is posting stories under the account name ****AnotherBook****. So search for that writer name when looking for Erin. Sorry again for the confusion.**

**Now…onto the story itself!**

**God bless and have a great day (or night)!  
ThePro-LifeCatholic**

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**ErinKenobi2893:**** Sorry 'bout that…but you're very welcome about the prompt! It seemed like Donna Noble wouldn't be huge about that movie for some reason, so I had the Doctor introduce it to her.**

…

**But…wait. Hold on. That means that if Donna only watched it because the Doctor showed it to her…then she'll forget that she watched it when she forgets traveling with the Doctor…**

…

**Now I just made myself really sad.**

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**Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who, nor do I own the request. I also don't own **_**The Princess Bride**_** (forgot to say that in the last prompt).**

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**Writing Prompt #24: Character is Drugged**

**Characters: **10th Doctor, Donna Noble, mentions of past companions

**Shippings: **None, unless you'd like to assume implied 10/Rose. I'm certainly not gonna stop you.

**Genre: **Hurt/Comfort/Angst/Friendship

**Rating**: K+ (mild T)

**Summary**: Okay. I'd like to read a story where Donna looks after the Doctor when he gets sick. (Call me odd for wanting all these sick-fics, but even Time Lords have got to get sniffles sometimes. :-P) Adorableness and use of nicknames (aka "Martian", "Spaceman", etc.) ensues. :-P

**Prompted by: **ErinKenobi2893

**NOTE: **This is **Part 2** of **2**. A continuation of the prompt before this one, in case someone's trying to read this and has absolutely no idea what's going on. ;)

* * *

Donna wriggled on the sofa, trying in vain to find a position on the sofa where she wouldn't ultimately end up drowning in its super-soft cushions. _The Princess Bride_ was turning out to be a better movie than she had first anticipated. Not only was it humorous, but it contained strong morals, a love story, life and death, miracles, hatred, and a good-looking villain with a surprising plot-twist up his sleeve, among other things The only objection she had was that Buttercup didn't seem _near_ as independent as what Donna thought she should be. On top of that, the Doctor was making a clicking noise on-and-off throughout the film, and it was a bit distracting.

"Think you could tone it down a bit, Spaceman?" she whispered, not looking away from the screen as she spoke. Seeing the sick boy at the beginning of the movie had given her an idea of sorts.

"Maybe we could read something after this is done," she suggested. "My mom would sometimes read to me when I was feeling sick and my eyes hurt too much to stare at a screen. What books have you got here that you really like?" She glanced at the alien next to her, and all of her interest in the movie was banished in a moment.

The Doctor's gaze was fixed dead ahead, lips pressed firmly together. His expression was twisted into a grimace. White knuckles clutched and unclenched the edges of blanket methodically, the fabric hugging tightly to his shaking frame. Just as Donna turned towards him, he let out a small gasp, and his jaw snapped against the top row of teeth. A tremor rippled through his body, and he yanked the blanket closer to himself.

"What's wrong?" Donna demanded, tossing the remote to the side and focusing all of her attention on the Doctor. He scrunched his eyes shut and took several long breaths.

"Just…just a bit cold…that's all." He had to pause in between words, sucking in deep breaths and trying to control the violent teeth-chattering that made speaking nearly impossible. With a sickening twist in her gut, Donna realized what the clicking noise had been during the movie. A flash of anger, mixed with concern, left a bitter taste in her mouth and sent her stomach flopping.

"Come here, you," she ordered, scooting closer to the Doctor's shivering figure. In a manner that could only be described as motherly, she scooped up her own blanket and enveloped the Doctor in its colorful folds. He managed a wan grin of gratitude, snuggling deep into the nest of fabric.

"Sh-should be over…fairly soon," he stage-whispered in a raspy voice. "Jus…just the drug making its course."

"D'you have any medicines we could give you?" Donna suggested. She smoothed down the blanket, tucking the corners around the Doctor. One of his hands began twitching uncontrollably; she took it firmly in her own.

"You're sweating," Donna discovered, inspecting his hand closely. A knot of fear formed in her stomach until she recalled the Doctor's words. Didn't he say he'd get a fever, or a mild flu?

"Doctor," she repeated, looking up at his face, "I said you're-"

The rest of her sentence was snatched from her mouth unfinished. The Doctor's head had lolled back against the back of the couch. Brown irises rolled behind half-closed eyelids, his breaths were harsh and uneven.

"Doctor?" Donna squeaked. The knot in her stomach was twisting around her throat. "Doctor!" she said again, more loudly. She leapt off the couch, then brushed a hand against his forehead. Just as quickly she jerked it back again. He was burning up, despite the shivers that still racked his skinny frame. Snapping into action, Donna dragged the blankets off of the sofa, working the Doctor out of the suffocating swathes of heavy fabric. He reacted to this sudden change in temperature; shaking hands scrabbled for a source of warmth that was no longer there.

"You're running a fever, Doctor," Donna tried to explain, taking his hands in her own. "You're incredibly hot…and I don't mean in the attractive way." She said this more to comfort herself, to try and goad a response out of the shaking Time Lord. He inhaled sharply, eyelids flitting open. Donna squeezed his hand, praying for some indication that he was alright.

Glazed eyes surveyed their immediate surroundings with a listless gaze. They finally rested on Donna Noble, and the Doctor stared at her for a long moment. Then the corners of his mouth pulled up, ever so slightly, and he opened his mouth once, twice. Noises gurgled to the surface, pouring out of his mouth in incoherent sounds. Donna shook her head, not sure of what to do.

"Come on, Doctor," she implored. "Tell me what's wrong. What can I do?"

He stopped, blinked. Then he squeezed his eyes shut. A moan escaped his lips.

"Donna," he heaved, pushing himself into a sitting position. His nails ground into her palms, but Donna didn't push his hands away. He stared at her, hard, with an unsteady gaze. He gulped several times, Adam's apple bobbing as he tried to force words out of his dry throat. "I'm…The drug is…has worse effects…than I anticipated."

"No kidding," Donna snapped, doing her best to stay composed.

"Worse than I thought," he repeated.

"I hadn't noticed," she rebutted. "But I'll slap you later. Tell me, Martian: what can I do?"

But instead of answering, the Doctor reached forward, grabbing her arms in a tight grip that made her wince. He sucked in a large, harsh breath, staring hard at her with intense concentration and working his mouth desperately.

"The drug," he panted, limbs taut and veins clearly standing out along his neck and backs of his hands, "It…one of its effects…"

Donna leaned forward, ignoring his nails digging into her arms. "What, Spaceman?" she asked impatiently.

He opened his mouth, struggling to form the correct words. Just when it seemed he was ready to talk, he went limp again as the drug took hold, his head flopping onto the arm of the couch. Donna sat still, holding his hands in her own. She was panicking, but had no idea what course of action she should take. Did Time Lords take human medicine? How long would the fever last? Would it be minutes, days, weeks? Thoughts like these flooded her mind, filling her to bursting.

"Come on, Doctor," she begged, squeezing his warm fingers. "Wake up."

His mouth turned down into a frown, his eyelids fluttering open. He glanced up at her, seeming to have a hard time focusing on her face. When he finally did, a ghostly smile played over his lips.

"Hello…" he whispered softly, roughly. "…Suzan?"

Donna opened her mouth, then shut it again. She was completely speechless for several long moments.

"Not Suzan, Doctor," she finally managed. "Donna, remember? It's me, Donna Noble."

The frown deepened as he pondered the information thoughtfully, trying to place the name. At least, that's what Donna was willing herself to believe. The Time Lord shifted suddenly, pushing himself up into a sitting position and beginning to examine his surroundings with a vague, slightly confused expression.

"Where is it, then?" he croaked.

"Where's what?" Donna replied, holding one of his arms to keep him steady.

"My recorder," he responded as he sank back into the soft cushions. Donna, who had been struggling to understand the Doctor before, was now hopelessly lost. A recorder? One of those little plastic flutes that every kid in Kindergarten learned to play?

"Yes, my recorder," the Doctor continued, breaking into Donna's thoughts. "Lovely things, recorders. Keeps me busy when I don't have anything else to do." He fiddled with his coat buttons absentmindedly, sniffing and beginning to hum a tune that Donna had never heard before. Dropping his hands to his sides, he looked up at her suddenly and cleared his throat.

"Jo, it seems I'm feeling a bit under the weather," he stated. "I'm sorry for bothering you with this. It shouldn't last much longer. Time Lords are generally-" he broke off in a fit of coughing so violent that he nearly fell off the couch. Donna helped the disjointed alien clamber back onto the cushions.

"Doctor," she nearly pleaded, "Tell me you know who I am." Worry like a stone was weighing her down, and she couldn't do anything to help him. Her best friend in the whole world was suffering here, right in front of her face, and there was absolutely nothing she could think of to do.

"Oh, I'll be fine, Rose," he murmured, searching his pockets. "Jus' don't tell Jack. Last time I was sick, he made a fuss." He stopped his search and looked at Donna with glazed eyes. "D'you have a tissue?"

As it happened, Donna did have one, which she handed to the Doctor. He sneezed into several times, and a violent tremor shook through him. Donna instantly recognized _this_ symptom; he probably felt cold again. Sliding closer to him, she picked the blankets up off of the floor and shook them out. Then she wrapped them around the Doctor, tucking them tightly against his form. He didn't resist like he'd normally do in such a situation; in fact, he seemed to take comfort in the attention and mothering. He snuggled up against her, eyes closing as the drug stole away his consciousness once more.

Donna sat next to him for the next hour or so (give or take a couple minutes), waiting for the drug to run its course. She covered him with the blanket when he began to shiver so hard that his teeth clattered together, and shoved them off the couch when he complained about being too hot. Every now and then, she would stroke his damp hair and whisper to him in an attempt to soothe the feverish Time Lord.

For the most part, he remained quiet, either sleeping or unconscious. When he was awake, the snatches of words that she managed to hear were beyond her understanding. There were a lot of names that she didn't know, although she assumed that the Doctor was talking about people from his past. Certain names, such as "Sarah Jane" and "Rose" were mentioned more than others. Once, he murmured a chant of beautiful sounds that she couldn't understand and that the TARDIS refused to translate.

If Donna could, she would have stayed with the Doctor the whole time he was ill. However, despite the concern that gnawed at her empty stomach, she was forced to relinquish her post and take a quick bathroom break. She ran the whole way there and back, hardly trusting to leave the Doctor alone for more than two minutes. What if he woke up thinking he was somewhere else? He could wander into the depths of the TARDIS and lose himself in the maze of tunnels and passageways in a matter of seconds.

As she approached the entrance to the "sick room", she was surprised to hear multiple voices wafting from the doorway. A cheerful tune announced her entrance as she stepped inside. _The Princess Bride_ had been turned back on, and a skinny figure swathed in fabric was sitting up on the couch, staring at the screen. Donna ground to a halt, staring at the Doctor. He finally seemed to notice her presence, tilting his head towards her.

"Hello, Donna," he said quietly, offering her a weak smile. Donna blinked and opened her mouth.

"You…!" she gasped. Then she hurried forward, placing a hand against his forehead. "You're still warm," she said, peering into his eyes. He leaned to the side, trying to see past her.

"Donna, I'm trying to watch the movie," he pointed out, sounding more tired than annoyed.

"But, Doctor, you're sick! Really, really sick!" Donna couldn't understand it. What had happened while she had been gone? "How are you feeling?"

"The worst part's over," the Doctor was quick to assure her. "I'll still have a mild fever, probably a runny nose for the rest of the week, but I'm not complaining." He grinned. "I'm perfectly fine." A flash of relief passed over Donna's face, soon replaced by anger.

"Ow!" the Doctor exclaimed as Donna punched his arm. "Oi! What was that for?! I'm sick, remember?"

"You just left me to care for you, and didn't even tell me that the drug would make you hallucinate!" Donna practically yelled back. "You Dumbo! You should'a told me. I couldn't do anything to help you." The last part of the accusation ended in a hush, and the red-head had to blink fiercely several times. The Doctor slid off the couch and stood toe-to-toe with his companion.

"I'm sorry, Donna," he whispered. "I wasn't quite sure myself what the drug would do. And it didn't make me hallucinate per se…" he tapped the side of his head. "It scrambles time and memory perception. Certain memories are brought to the forefront of your mind, and the poor poisoned bloke can't perceive the difference between the memories and reality."

Donna nodded her head, lips pursed. "So basically you were hallucinating," she finally stated.

"I just said-" the Doctor began. Donna jabbed him in the ribs.

"Oi, Skinny-Stick," she interrupted. "When I'm the one taking care of you, I get to diagnose what you have."

The Doctor sighed and raised his hands in the air. "I know better than to argue with you," he muttered. Donna chuckled, feeling the weight of worry finally lift off her chest. The Doctor did look better, still pale but content and acting more himself. And if the Doctor said he was feeling better, she knew he wouldn't lie to her about something like that.

"Can we finish the movie now?" the Doctor asked hopefully.

"Fine," Donna conceded. "As long as you agree to stay on that couch and get some proper rest."

The Doctor looked ready to retort, but she pushed him onto the cushion before he could say anything. Throwing a blanket at his head, she pulled her own blanket up around herself. She picked up the remote, starting up the film again as the Doctor got himself settled. Then she scooted closer to him, drinking up the extra warmth that emanated from his body.

"You're like a giant hot water bottle," she murmured.

"Really?" he asked, sounding slightly exasperated. "A water bottle?"

"Hush, Spaceman," she shot back, "I can't hear the movie."

* * *

**I'm still alive, you guys, I promise. This story really spiraled out of control, and this is where it ended up. I hope you enjoyed it, especially ****ErinKenobi2893****!**

**Also, I watched "The Witch's Familiar", and I liked how they resolved the cliffhanger. I haven't seen any other episodes from Season 9, though, so don't spoil it for me. **

**On another note, I've been watching **_**The Flash**_** on Netflix, and it's turned out to be pretty good so far…even though it's DC *shots fired* It's kind of hokey, and there are some cheesy moments, but it's a good show with strong morals and all that jazz.**

**See you around for the next prompt!**


	30. Prompt 27: Character De-Ages

_**I am the storm…**_

_**I am the storm…**_

_**I am the storm…**_

…

_**So wait.**_

**("Thousand Eyes" by Of Monsters and Men).**

**The countdown continues, my readers. In about a day and a half, officially, **_**Jessica Jones**_** will be available on Netflix.**

**I, for one, am super hyped.**

**No one else at the college has mentioned it…so maybe it's just me. Anyone else out there excited?**

**On a fanfiction note, I have been trying to figure out forums, but I can't. I'm not sure how they work, or if there are any updated ones, or any recent challenges…in short, I'm utterly lost. Better just stick with fanfiction-writing for now, eh?**

**ALSO…I realize I have been writing a lot of angsty whump, and characters getting ill. Time I changed that.**

**God bless and have a great day (or night)!**

**ThePro-LifeCatholic**

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**Writing Prompt #27: Character De-Ages**

**Characters: **12th, 11th, 10th, and 9th Doctor(s), Rose Tyler, Mickey (Rickey) Smith, Jack Harkness, Donna Noble, Amelia Pond, Rory Pond (Williams), River Song, Clara Oswald

**Shippings: **None

**Genre: **Humor/friendship/family/fluff and adorableness in general

**Rating: **K

**Summary: **For some reason I found myself in a weird Easter mood. Here's a prompt: The NuWho main characters are toddlers and go to the Day Care and have a good old fashioned Easter egg hunt**.**

**Prompted by: **Lovemuffin

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**I don't own Doctor Who. I don't own the original prompt idea. I own the crazy shenanigans that happen because of it, though. *rubs hands together and laughs manically***

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**ErinKenobi2893****: Thanks for the reviews (again). If you have something you'd like to say that isn't necessarily a story review, feel free to shoot me a PM. Also, about your make-over for the Doctor Who Movie…I never watched it. I have no clue what that would entail. That, and I'm so busy with school and such that I'm not sure I'd be able to find the time to do something like that. Not right now, anyhoo. :P**

**Jesuslovesmarina:**** I made the Doctor show Donna **_**The Princess Bride**_**, so we're all good. That is, until the Doctor needs to make her forget about all of the time they spent together…**

* * *

Even though no one had said anything to him yet, the Doctor felt he was sticking out like a sore thumb. A man in a beat-up, black leather jacket, a small black boy clutching one of his broad fingers and sucking on his own hand, the two of them standing in the middle of a preschool playground that was crawling with toddlers.

How could he be any more obvious?!

He fiddled with the buttons on his jacket, trying not to stare at the other adults that were mulling around the playground. Some of them were texting or talking on their phones; others rushed to soothe crying children or shove them onto the playground when they were acting shy. Mothers and fathers alike had to dump out the baskets of eggs that their sons and daughters had gathered and count the colorful collections again and again.

"'Tah! 'Tah!" a small voice cried out, making itself heard despite the ruckus of about two or three dozen toddlers. A squat figure in a pink shirt and blue shorts teetered towards the Doctor, proudly displaying a bright pink egg in one hand. With the other hand, she attempted to brush blond flyaways from her face. The Doctor stooped down, working his finger out of the boy's firm grasp.

"What'cha got there, Rose?" he asked, taking the egg from her and examining it closely. The little girl beamed up at him.

"Egh, 'Tah!" she proclaimed with an open-mouthed smile. The little boy stepped forward, curiosity overcoming his initial shyness. He stared at the object with wide brown eyes, then looked at Rose.

"Egg?" he asked, in slightly more coherent English. "Egg, Ro?"

"If you went out there with Rose," the Doctor reasoned, "then you'd be able to get an egg too, Mickey. A nice, big, green one!" As the Doctor spoke, Rose stuck a hand out.

"Egh?" she asked Mickey. The little boy hung back, surveying the number of strange kids with uncertainty. Finally, tentatively, he reached for Rose's hand. As the two tottered off, the Doctor stood up and sighed, pulling on the ends of his jacket.

"How am I gonna fix this mess?" he mused to empty air. Just his luck, somehow managing to de-age his companions. He had hoped that taking them to an Easter-egg hunt would've enabled him to focus on finding a cure, but it seemed that he had made it even harder on himself by coming here. His gaze swept across the playground, trying to pinpoint where Jack had gotten to. If he was flirting with a three-year-old…then the Doctor might just have to ground him.

"No!" a shrill shriek reached his ears. "'Tah! 'TAH!"

The Doctor rushed to the site of the action to see what was going on. Rose was pointing at little girl, about her age, with crazy blond curls sticking out around her head. The said toddler was holding two eggs, one in each hand; one was navy blue, the other dark green. Mickey was sitting on the ground, empty hands laying palms-up on his laps. A fat tear trailed down his cheek.

"Riv-Melody! No!" A man in a tweed jacket rushed forward, nearly tripping over himself and other children at least twelve times in the distance of five feet. "You don't take his eggs, Melody! Give them back and say sorry." He pointed a finger at her and frowned. Melody held his gaze with an unperturbed expression.

"My now," she said, dropping the two eggs into her yellow plastic basket. The man in tweed sighed, adjusting his bowtie. Then he pulled a package out of his jacket, handing it to Mickey.

"Hey, little guy," he crooned. "I've got something better than any old egg for you." Mickey glanced at the box, and his eyes lit up as he saw that it contained a small chocolate rabbit. Melody saw it, too, and she rushed forward, dropping her basket.

"Want!" she cried, grabbing at the package. The Doctor held it out of her reach. "No, River. You took his egg; this is for…" he paused, then glanced down at Mickey. "What's your name? Didn't catch it before."

"His name's Mickey," the Doctor piped up. The bowtie-wearing stranger started, noticing the Doctor for the first time.

"Dottah! Ror!" A red-headed girl with a Scottish accent and emerald eyes (sporting a blue-jean skirt) pulled on the Doctor's black pants, pointing behind her with a fat finger. "Ror, Dottah!"

"Rory?" the Doctor questioned, glancing around. "Again? Is he in the bushes, Amy?"

"Ror," she repeated, running towards a clump of bushes on the edge of the playground. "'Mon, Dottah!"

"Coming, coming." The Doctor grabbed River's hand and followed Amy. "Rory, if I said it once, I've said it a thousand times: stay out of the bushes! You _knew_ you were going to get caught, didn't you? And you still went and did it!"

Jack Harkness, meanwhile, had found himself a girl…or, more accurately, the girl had found _him._ A ginger toddler, slightly taller and bigger than the ex-time agent, had practically run up to him and proceeded to commence a hug-out. For a good minute-and-a-half now she had been embracing him, and he was growing thoroughly annoyed.

"Go 'way," he muttered, giving her a rough shove. She stumbled backwards, plopping down hard on the grass. Anger flashed in her eyes and she clambered to her feet. Then she landed a smack, hard, on the side of his face.

"Jack!" the Doctor cried, catching the tail end of the scenario.

"Donna!" the Doctor yelled, narrowly side-stepping a pile of eggs as he dashed to the two toddlers. The two men reached the children at the same time.

"Let me see," the Doctor commanded, crouching next to Jack.

"Now, Donna, that's not good," reprimanded the Doctor, taking Donna firmly by the shoulders and giving her a hard look. "Give the poor bloke a hug. What'd he ever do to you, eh?"

Donna shot Jack a scathing look, but she tottered forward, arms stretched out. Jack received her peace-hug somewhat stiffly. The Doctor and the Doctor found themselves face-to-face. The elder one, with crazy brown hair and a blue suit, scratched the back of his head and cleared his throat.

"Sorry 'bout that," he said haltingly. "You know how kids are."

The Doctor nodded. "Oh yeah."

An awkward silence settled between the two. Jack and Donna, having made up with each other, were now busily searching for eggs together. A third kid joined their group, brown pigtails bobbing behind her.

"Hi," she said with a wave.

"Hi," Jack responded. Donna shoved an egg in the newcomer's face. "See?" she asked.

"Clara, be nice to the other kids." An elderly man with grey curly hair and a Scottish accent made his way across the playground, weaving through the maze of children. He stopped in his tracks when he saw his past two regenerations standing side-by-side. He also took into account that the toddlers that Clara was getting acquainted with looked suspiciously like former companions. If all of this had happened before, he was surprised at himself for not remembering when he came. An Easter egg hunt had seemed safer than a toddler-Clara waddling around the TARDIS. But with himself to deal with on top of babysitting…that was a whole new level of danger.

"Granddaughter?" the blue-suited Doctor was saying. The Doctor blinked, snapping out of his bemused (and slightly aggravated) train of thought.

"What?"

"Clara; she your granddaughter?"

"Oh…yeah. She is."

"Nice kid," leather-Doctor noted.

"Thanks."

Just then, the floppy-haired Doctor rushed past, little Amelia in tow. "Really, Rory? I look away for a second! How did you even get up in that tree?!" River ambled along behind, chewing happily on a chocolate rabbit. Mickey chased after her, grabbing at the back of her light blue dress and yelling for the treat. Rose continued looking for eggs, completely oblivious to her future boyfriend's plight.

The oldest Doctor sighed and massaged his forehead. When he looked up again, he saw that Clara had wandered off, and was attempting to climb the rock wall alone and unaided. Donna, having tried to taste the Easter egg that she had found, discovered that it was the most revolting taste she had ever experienced. This led to her beginning to bawl loudly. Harkness had seen a group of siblings eating a picnic of peanut sandwiches, and invited himself to their party. Grabbing one of the sandwiches, he raced off with it, shoving it in his mouth as he ran.

"As long as they don't remember any of this, I may just survive the aftermath," the Doctor muttered to himself, rushing to save Clara from a bad tumble.

In short, it was just another perfectly normal day in the life of the Doctor.

* * *

**I had a lot of fun writing this. Especially having the toddler companions give the Doctor their own little kid twists, like "'Tah" and "Dottah".**

**Thanks, ****Lovemuffin****, for giving me such a fun prompt, and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.**

**See you guys around for the next prompt!**


	31. Prompt 61: TV Show Comes to Life

**As some of you may know, **_**Jessica Jones**_** is now available on Netflix. All 13 episodes are sitting there, waiting to be watched. I really hope it's not too inappropriate, because I've been so excited for this show. Jessica seems like a really interesting character, and Kilgrave seems like an awesome villain.**

…

**So…yeah.**

***fangirls***

**God bless and have a great day (or night)!  
ThePro-LifeCatholic**

* * *

**Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who. Nor do I own Netflix or **_**Jessica Jones**_**. If I did, some serious WhoMarvel stuff would be going down. And by that, I mean it would be nothing short of AWESOME to see the Doctor and Purple Man face off to each other.**

* * *

**Writing Prompt #61: TV Show Comes to Life**

** Characters: **Rose Tyler, Mickey (Rickey) Smith, Jack Harkness, 9th Doctor, Martha Jones, Donna Noble, 10th Doctor, Amy Pond, Rory Pond (Williams), River Song, 11th Doctor, Clara Oswald, 12th Doctor

**Pairings: **None

**Genre: **Humor/Friendship/Family/Mystery

**Rating: **K, K+

**NOTE: **I don't know if this would count as a crossover or not…but it might, so…thought I'd just put that here…

* * *

The Doctor leaned forward in his seat, hands clutching the arms of the chair tightly. His nose nearly brushed touched the brunette's face from where she sat in front of him on the floor. For a second or two they both sat completely still, brown and blue eyes locked in an intense stare-down. Bushy grey eyebrows furrowed together and his forehead wrinkled up. Finally, opening his mouth ever so slightly, a hiss of breath escaped his lips, followed by a whisper.

"Can you stop a car?" he questioned softly. The ends of Clara's mouth twitched once, twice. Struggling to maintain a serious expression, she chewed on her lip, waiting a beat before leaning forward herself, so that their noses nearly touched.

"A slow moving car," she answered just as softly, with an underlying tremor that could only be characteristic as someone trying to hold back a laugh. The mood was broken by a smile that Clara couldn't hide anymore, followed by a chuckle.

"No, Clara!" the Doctor exclaimed, leaning back in the chair. "You were doing so well!"

"Bravo!" Donna cried from where she sat (next to Jack Harkness). The room erupted into applause, and Clara gave a few quick bows.

"Thank you, thank you. It was nothing, really," she said. The eldest regeneration of the Time Lord rolled his eyes.

"Of course it was nothing. I was the one doing all of the performing," he stated.

"Ooooooooh," Jack, Martha, Amy, River, and Rose collectively gasped at once. Mickey tossed a pillow to Clara, who promptly brought it down on top of her Doctor's head.

"Ow! Hey!" he cried, leaping up from the chair. Clara chased him around the room, swinging her weapon to-and-fro.

"Alright, Jack," Donna said, turning to the ex-time agent. "Your turn."

"Whatever you say," he said with a shrug.

"Really, Jack?" the Doctor asked from where he sat, squashed between Rose and Martha, with Mickey squeezed on the tail end of the foursome.

"Really what?" Jack responded innocently.

"Do you have to make everything sound so…flirty?" the Doctor wanted to know. He glanced at Amy and Rory (who were leaning against the console next to him) to see if they had picked up on the not-so-subtly-flirtatious tone in Jack's voice. The Ponds exchanged a glance, then Rory raised his hands in the air defensively.

"I'm not getting involved," he said.

"You two men can hash it out over your girlfriend," Amy reinforced, crossing her arms. The Doctor gaped at them, utterly at a loss for words for three seconds.

"Well…No!...Really, Ponds?" He turned away adjusted his bowtie. He had chosen to don a purple one today, especially for the occasion of the _Jessica Jones_ marathon that all of the companions had planned for. "That's not what I meant," he started, facing the Ponds again.

"Oi!" Donna shouted, interrupting their conversation. "I wanna hear Jack go!"

"Just do it, Jack," the Doctor in leather said, flicking Rose's hair out of his face. Jack straightened up in his seat and cleared his throat a couple times.

"The devil did this," he squeaked in a high and very badly executed falsetto, "And I'm gonna stop him!"

Donna fell back in her chair in a helpless fit of laughter. Rose, who had decided just at that moment to take a sip of her soda, began coughing. The Doctor slapped her on the back in an attempt to help her clear her windpipe. Martha, who couldn't say anything for several moments, was reduced to silent shaking and slapping her hands against Mickey's lap. Even Clara stopped her chase because of Jack's impression of the female superhero. Amy fell against Rory, and the Doctor found himself chuckling.

"Hey!" Jack feigned offensively, "I thought I did pretty good."

"No…you…didn't!" Donna gasped, batting him on the arm. "That was the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard!"

"I thought it was _brilliant_," River drawled, clapping her hands slowly and loudly.

"That sounded like a sarcastic clap," Jack observed. River grinned mysteriously.

"Maybe that's what it was supposed to sound like," she reasoned with a shrug. A delicious aroma wafted into the room, causing the somewhat chaotic atmosphere to settle a bit.

"Mmmmm," Martha breathed, finally calm enough to talk. "Is that…?"

"Oh, yeah," Rose affirmed, wriggling on the cushions.

"Cookies!" the Eleventh Doctor confirmed, leaping forward and spinning around, trying to place the originating source of the smell.

"Hello!" The Doctor cried, bounding into the room. He had decided on wearing his blue suit that day, but a pair of deep purple converse was on his feet, and his hair was styled to match the Purple Man's look (it had taken him a good part of that morning). In one hand he precariously balanced a tray heaped with freshly-baked goodies. "Thought I'd make something for the marathon," he explained, setting the display of treats down on the console. The TARDIS buzzed, and he quickly picked up the tray again.

"Sorry, Old Girl," the Doctor apologized.

"Just set it here," the grey-haired Doctor said, pointing to his own empty chair.

"Thanks," Spaceman responded. After the tray situation was resolved, he looked suspiciously around the room at himself and his companions past, present, and future.

"Alright," he finally said, folding his arms across his chest. "What's going on? Have you been talking about me?"

"No," Mickey said.

"You're not interesting, remember?" the youngest Doctor piped up. Rose whacked him in the arm.

"We were imitating lines from the _Jessica Jones_ trailers," Clara explained. "And Jack…he tried to copy one of Jessica's lines." She grinned, and several other people began to laugh again. The pinstripe Doctor sighed and shook his head. "Really, Jack?"

"What?!" Jack exclaimed. "I'm as lost as you are, Doc!"

"He thinks he's funny," River mused between chuckles.

"How about you have a go, Doctor?" Amy broke in suddenly, pointing a finger at the skinny Doctor.

"Have a go at what?" he responded. Martha rolled her eyes.

"For a super intelligent Time Lord, you're a real dunce sometimes," Donna stated. "She meant have a go at imitating someone's lines from the trailer!"

"He's horrible at impersonation," tweed-Doctor said, adjusting his bowtie again. "Unless he's trying to act like a Scottish person," he continued thoughtfully. "He's really good at Scottish accents."

"That's probably because Scottish accents are awesome," Amy said. "Scottish accent is the only accent worth learning. They're _cool_." She stressed the last word.

"Come on, Pretty Boy," River prompted. "Just one line."

The Doctor took a long look at the faces staring at him with poorly-concealed expectation. He sighed resignedly, letting his arms fall to his sides. "Fine," he muttered.

"Yay!" Clara cheered.

"Do Luke Cage," Rory said.

"I wanna hear you do Jessica!" Donna interjected.

"If there's someone who wears a bowtie in the show, imitate them," his immediate successor put in. "And don't just imitate his lines. Imitate his genius sense of fashion, too."

Pretty Boy rolled his eyes. "As if," he shot back.

"Do Purple Man, Doctor," Martha suggested. The Doctor pondered this proposition. "Fine," he conceded. "Just give me a sec."

The room fell silent as the Doctor smoothed down his suit and bowed his head. He closed his eyes, letting the voice of the character run through his mind. Then rolling his shoulders back, he raised his head slowly. A cold, sinister light gleamed behind brown irises, mixed with fierce intelligence and rabid hunger. Raw power and cocky self-assurance seemed to radiate off his being. He hunched forward, ever so slightly, as if he were collapsing in on himself.

"Jessica Jones," he hissed, his gaze sweeping the room, scrutinizing the face of every person present. The Doctor leaned back, clasping his hands behind his back and tilting his head to one side. "Don't play the hero with me," he continued. His voice was velvety soft, conveying a false sense of tenderness that couldn't be found in his face. Suddenly he jumped forward, every muscle tensing and uncoiling like a spring. The glint in his eyes became a blaze of cold flame, and he seemed prepared to pounce on whatever was closest to him; to take it and tear it apart. To twist and break and mutilate until the empty starvation was finally appeased.

Then he stood up straight and ran a hand through his hair absent-mindedly, completely destroying his hairstyle. "Well that was fun," he stated. "But I have another batch of cookies in the oven, and I should probably check on them now." He walked to the nearest doorway. "Carry on!" he called cheerfully. "Be back in a tick." With that, the Doctor was gone.

The room was silent, even after he had left. Everyone sat still as stones in their respective positions, giving each other slightly perturbed looks. Not only had the Doctor's voice sounded eerily similar to that of Purple Man, but his expressions and acting performance lent to an uncanny resemblance between the two that, until then, none of the others had really noticed.

No one said anything about it, of course, but it was unanimously and wordlessly decided that, from that point onward, there would be no more roleplaying _Jessica Jones_ until after the marathon that evening.

* * *

**This was pretty much just an excuse to: 1) raise awareness for the show, 2) exploit the fact that both Kilgrave and the 10****th**** Doctor are the same character, and 3) make multiple companions and regenerations interact with each other, because that's always fun to write.**

**Oh, yeah...and 4) 'cause it's fun to make Jack act like a completely ridiculous and adorable idiot who never acts mature. Ever.**

**See you around for the next prompt!**


	32. Prompt 7: (Roll the Dice Again)

**Hello, peoples. **

**Yeah, I'm still alive. Shocker, huh?**

**I've been sooooooooooooo busy, I hope you all will find it in your hearts to forgive me. I swear I will be getting more writing done; I have a Twelve Days of Christmas prompt thingy that I'm planning on doing for this story. After that, I'll start working on prompts that all you lovely writers have given me. I know I have a slew of 'em, and they will get written. Cross my hearts.**

**God bless and have a Merry Christmas!**

**ThePro-LifeCatholic**

* * *

**Writing Prompt #7: (Roll the Dice Again)**

**Characters: **Sarah Jane Smith, Tenth Doctor, Trickster, mentions of Donna, Martha, and Rose

**Shippings: **none

**Genre: **Hurt/Comfort/Friendship/Suspense

**Rating: **K, K+

**Note:** This is my take on the Doctor's point of view during _The Wedding of Sarah Jane_ Part I. You can look up both parts of _The Wedding of Sarah Jane_ on daily motion (one word). It's free, and you don't have to worry about setting up an account beforehand, which is great.

* * *

**Disclaimer: I don't own **_**Doctor Who**_**, nor do I own **_**The Sarah Jane Adventures**_**. I just think that the Trickster is a cool villain.**

* * *

Red trainers echo in an empty room; blue suit is creased and wrinkled because its wearer refused to stay in one place for longer than half a minute. The hum of the ship is the only sound in the room, its one occupant is being uncharacteristically quiet as he frowned over a mess of wires spread out on the floor. Silence reigned in the ship, because he saw no point in talking when no one was there to answer.

"Bye, Doctor," Martha had said. His amazing, brilliant, strong Martha Jones; and like all the others before her, she had stepped out those doors and started her own life without him. How different her ending had been compared to Rose's and Donna's. Both of them had been abandoned, in a sense, by none other than himself. Time continued to tick, clocks sped past, and people went with them, leaving him floundering in his immortality.

Hadn't he been right in deciding that he didn't need anyone? Donna had made him reconsider this position, but Martha's departure had only cemented it. Astrid's sad end had followed immediately afterwards, and he had been adamant about no companions. Him later finding Donna again during the Adipose episode, however had sparked his hope. Maybe he could take someone with him; maybe he could try again. And now here he was, alone. Donna Noble was happy and safe on Earth, completely unaware of the adventures she and the Doctor had been on together. Never would she be able to remember the running, the life-and-death, the hysterical joys or heart-wrenching sorrows that had plagued their every escapade, because if she did…

The Doctor blocked this thought passage, sitting back and rubbing a hand across his eyes. Sniffing loudly, he stood up, cracking his back and wiggling his toes, which had fallen asleep in his shoes. He spun the console's screen towards himself, peering at the Gallifreyan symbols that spun on its surface.

"How 'bout a trip, eh Old Girl?" he inquired, fondly patting the clear cylinder in the center of the console. "No point mucking about, is there?" The TARDIS' humming response was more than enough for him, and the Doctor set the controls for Earth. It was one of his favorite destinations, and even though he wasn't planning on finding a new companion or doing any planet-saving, it was a nice place just to visit.

The TARDIS spun into the vortex, filling the room with the wheezing groaning that the Doctor had learned to love after so many years. Bumps and jostles shook the interior, smoothing out only when the engine's groan died away. The Doctor raced to the wooden doors, flinging them open…and nearly falling into the abyss of space.

He clung to the doorframe, staring into deep blue dotted with white pinpricks of light. Beneath him was the Milky Way Galaxy, nine planets swirling around a bright yellow sun. Frowning, the Doctor glanced over his shoulder.

"Why aren't we on the planet itself?" he asked his ship. When he got no response, he turned to the scene outside and noticed Earth. It was positioned directly underneath the TARDIS, but it was hardly recognizable. His beautiful planet, the thing that was closest to being a home for the wandering Time Lord, was barely more than a smoking piece of rock. Sections of the planet had been ripped away, its missing pieces scattered who-knows-where. Smoking craters stippled its surface, large enough to be seen from the TARDIS.

The Doctor stumbled back into the TARDIS, his mind numb and reeling with shocked disbelief. He grappled to come to terms with the future state of Earth, and then time sense kicked in. A wave of scrambled timelines hit him harder than shock or nausea, knotting his gut and punching him in the stomach. Gasping for breath, the Doctor slid to the floor, clutching his head. The Great and Bountiful Human Race, New Earth, the Year that Never Was, Satellite Five, Davros' conquest of Earth and the destruction of reality; time streams tangled and unstrung themselves, unraveling the crucial moments that bound the universe together. But amid the sickening snarls, new details burst into the stream, leading to a single point that he could sense but couldn't place. As quickly as he had fallen, the Doctor scrambled up again. He yanked off his trenchcoat and flung it onto the nearest column before turning his attention to the console controls. With confidence (and a slap-dash of desperation) he flicked a few switches. If he could get to the surface, he figured, then he could get an insider's look at the situation.

The engines wheezed to life, and the Doctor allowed his tense form to relax for a moment. Next thing he knew, he was gripping the banister for dear life as violent tremors rippled through the TARDIS. The comforting moan of the inner workings faltered, turning into a pathetic cough that died into eerie silence. Hand over hand, the Doctor made his way to the controls. Throwing himself onto the console, he frantically stabbed at the nearest dials, piloting the ship away from the Earth. Amid the creaking and groaning, the TARDIS engines came back to life. As the quakes smoothed out, the Doctor slid to the ground, his hearts thrumming in his ears. Then he was up and looking at the screen, trying to pinpoint what, exactly, had kept him from landing.

"Something…" he muttered to empty air, "…Something, somewhere…has been expecting this…AHA!" He stepped back, jabbing his finger emphatically at the screen. "There you are!" he shouted, bending over and placing his glasses on his nose. "Now…let's find the source!" He piloted the TARDIS into the Time Vortex, tracing the origin of the…whatever-it-was that had kept him from getting to Earth. He knew he couldn't land on the planet itself (not right now, anyway), but if he stayed parallel to its time period, following Earth's timeline from the sideline, then maybe, just maybe, he could still track down the source. Speaking of which…

The Doctor examined the spinning symbols on the screen in front of him, tongue resting against his top teeth. Suddenly he leaned forward, knuckles going white as his hold on the console tightened. He _knew_ these readings. He'd seen them before.

His mind flashed back through the months, reviving memories of him comforting Donna after she had fallen prey to the Time Beetle and its disturbing abilities. He turned to earlier thoughts, ones that included a young woman with blond hair and an infectious smile, along with an alien who called itself "Abzorbaloff". And again, when a Graske managed to slip its way into the BBC Proms – with the Doctor being his brilliant self and saving the day in the end – all of these seemingly unconnected adventures had one crucial similarity.

"The Trickster's Brigade," the Doctor muttered, pulling at his chine with one free hand. Of the little he knew about the Trickster – mostly stories from Gallifrey – it was nothing good. Apparently, the Trickster was affiliated with the so-called "Pantheon of Discord", and the "god of Randomness" (as he liked to be called) was a powerful being with abilities that could only be described as supernatural. He had heard the tales of the Trickster, and had even crossed paths with some of his assistants…or perhaps, more accurately, servants. But the unknown foe with mysterious capabilities and elusive goals…the Trickster himself…he had been nothing more than a whispered name until this moment.

And so the Doctor followed the source, watching it grow stronger as he neared the point in time and space where the celestial creature was situated. More than anything else, he kept his eyes peeled for a sudden drop in chaos. Based on the legends, the Trickster was a being that thrived on disorder; it gorged on disharmony and strove to create discord wherever he went.

Trembling fingers twitched on the controls; every muscle was strained, and every nerve was tense as the TARDIS came closer, closer…and suddenly he was right on top of it.

The Doctor raced around the console, flipping switches and spinning dials frantically. The TARDIS engines groaned and coughed as the ship narrowly missed colliding with the protective shield which the Trickster had set up around the present day. The Doctor went to the front doors, pulling them open and staring down at the Earth. It spun on its course in one whole piece. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, and the Doctor could sense that nothing had happened to time…yet.

He bounced back to the console and reviewed the information that the screen displayed.

"Now," he mused, "what's going on today that the Trickster, of all things, could be so interested in that I'm not even allowed to land on the planet?" He paused, brows furrowed and his forehead wrinkling up as he pondered. Then he shook his head. "Need to narrow it down," he muttered to empty air. "I'm close, but not close enough. Who, or what, are you targeting? Specifically?" With a sigh, the Doctor collapsed onto the white couch next to the console, letting the TARDIS pinpoint an exact person. He ran a hand through his thick, brown hair, causing it to stick up more wildly than before.

A sudden beeping from the console caught his attention, and the Time Lord launched himself forward, practically falling on top of the console screen. He took a quick look at the newest readings, and felt his whole body go numb. A chill passed over him, and his throat became dry. The Doctor blinked rapidly several times, trying to process the blurred symbols that spun in front of his closed eyes.

"Sarah…" he croaked through parched lips. Quickly, almost fiercely, he rubbed his face vigorously with both hands. No good in breaking down, was there? Not when one of his most beloved friends was in serious danger. With these harsh thoughts and more, he forced himself to steady his breathing, to see clearly again.

"I swear, Sarah Jane, I will save you!" he gritted through clenched teeth. He grabbed the nearest controls, pushing his ship backwards through time. Back to when Sarah was still dating, not yet married. He saw that he was directly above her house. It was such an ordinary-looking house, situated in such a normal neighborhood. People passed by beneath him, completely unaware that the world they knew was teetering on the brink of destruction. But when he tried to land, hoping that the Trickster's blockade would be weaker the further away from the wedding he was, the TARDIS moaned in agony, coughing and wheezing in a way that reminded the Doctor of the Millennium Falcon. The Doctor pulled his ship away, not wanting her to suffer any permanent damage in the hands of the Trickster.

"Alright, then," he seethed. "Forward. Again!" He sent his ship spinning forwards into the next couple days. Every time he tried to break through, though, the Trickster barricaded his entrance. Time and again, the TARDIS' engines spiraled into silence, and the Doctor was forced back into the Vortex. And time continued to tick by on Earth, nearing the dreaded day when everything went wrong; the day Sarah Jane Smith was to become Mrs. Dalton.

After another failed attempt, the Doctor lashed out at the TARDIS in pent-up rage. Grabbing the mallet, he slammed it down on top of the console controls. The ship lurched, a disconcerting buzz sounding as she reacted to the hard strike. The Time Lord slumped to the ground, abusing his head of hair aggressively, his breaths coming in short, hot gasps.

"I can't!" he moaned, clenching and opening tight fists. "Sarah Jane…I can't save her…I…I don't know how!" The rush of anger was crushed by the dizzying weight of utter hopelessness. Here and now he would be defeated again. Like Rose, like Martha, like Donna…and now it was Sarah Jane's turn. Her turn to see him falter and fail to catch her. A new day would dawn; the day of the wedding was the beginning of a new Earth. The planet of the Trickster, an anarchy of unbridled chaos would be manifested, and all of it hinged on a wedding that he couldn't stop.

As if of their own accord, without need of his permission, the wheels of the Doctor's mind began to turn. As these thoughts ran their course, a final desperate plan formulated and presented itself. It was a bold idea, concocted out of the haphazard combination of white fury and frenzied despondency and had little chance of success. But the brief spark of hope that it planted was more than enough for the Doctor.

Scrambling to his feet, he threw the mallet to the side and patted the clear cylinder with a gentle touch.

"Sorry 'bout that," he murmured. The TARDIS hummed softly in response, and he allowed a smile to pull at the corners of his mouth. Then he turned his attention to the console, setting the date for the day of the wedding itself. This was the do-or-die moment, the point of no return. Maybe, just maybe, on the day itself, the Trickster would be feeding so much energy into the moment of the wedding that other points in time wouldn't be as strongly blockaded. It was this hope that the Doctor clung to like a lifeline. He guided the TARDIS towards Earth, out of the Vortex. However, the ship was met with resistance, and he was forced to abort his entrance.

"Come on!" he growled. "Again! You can do it, Old Girl. I know you can!"

Today wouldn't be a day of defeat. Like Rose, like Martha, like Donna; too many times had he come so close, only to lose everything. A burning, ambitious denial fueled the Doctor. He tightened his hands on the controls of his ship, feeling time crawl by in the world outside. Closer to the wedding he came, closer…

Suddenly he burst into action. Racing around the console, he cranked levers, spun dials, and slammed down on buttons. The TARDIS coughed as it collided with the obstacles which the Trickster had put up. But the Doctor wasn't going to stand down. Somewhere in the building, in that very moment, Sarah Jane Smith was dressed in white and was processing down a petal-strewn aisle.

"Come on!" he shouted, keeping his hands steady on the controls. His ship shrieked in protest; the sound ground against the Doctor's ears painfully.

"You can do it," he assured her, eyes fixed on the screen. "Just a little bit more. I know you can!"

Then the grinding groans smoothed out. A familiar wheezing replaced the shuddering coughs, and the Doctor's face lit up. The music of the TARDIS engines filled the room, and the Doctor laughed out loud. A few final tremors shook the ship, then everything went still. For a moment, the Doctor stood motionless, his tense form shaking, a broad smile plastered to his face. Then he snapped back to the present. With wide strides, he ran down the metal ramp, snagging his trenchcoat and flinging wide the blue doors.

He was standing inside the building that the wedding was to take place in. There was no one in the room with him, so he dashed up the stairs, three at a time. It was too easy to pinpoint the Trickster's location now; the crackling energy around him was so tangible that he was surprised he couldn't see or feel it.

Down a white-walled hallway he sprinted. Somewhere, the Trickster must've gotten wind of the Doctor's successful appearance, because he could feel a growing force pulling back on him. The Doctor forced himself forward, red high-tops slapping hard against the carpet. Even as the resistance mounted to a point where every breath and movement was pain, he pushed himself on. The air was sucked from his chest; his body was numb and hurting and his head pounded.

He wasn't exactly sure how he managed to reach the end of the hallway, but suddenly he was the door. Without stopping for breath the Doctor shoved against the wooden doors, the final thing that stood between him and his Sarah Jane. They flew open easily, and the Doctor leaped into the room, coat flapping out behind him like a cape. He skidded to a halt, taking in the scene before him with wide brown eyes.

"Stop this wedding," he yelled at the stunned audience, "NOW!"

* * *

**Ooooooooooooh my gosh. This was so long.**


	33. 1st Day of Christmas

**Hello, my lovely readers!**

**As promised, I return with a 12 Days of Christmas prompt-idea. I will be typing and posting (if all goes well) a little Doctor Who story every day for the next 12 days, starting today.**

**Yes, today happens to be the first day of Christmas. Yes, I looked it up. No, I don't know why yesterday isn't included.**

**ANYhoo…**

**On a completely unrelated note, don't watch **_**Jessica Jones**_**. I'm sorry if I made anyone else excited to see it, only to shut it down now. My parents started watching it, and only 5-10 minutes into the first episode they had to turn it off. The amount of language, inappropriate (not to mention unnecessary) content, and violence made it a show not worth viewing. I was disappointed, but felt better after looking up the ending, because I didn't want to be left hanging.**

**For those who might be interested in knowing Kilgrave's fate…SPOILERS IF YOU DON'T WANT TO KNOW: Jessica snaps his neck.**

**Yeah.**

**Ouch.**

**Moving on…**

**OH! And I got a little Funko Pop Tenth Doctor keychain. I proceeded to carry him around the house, setting him up on stuff and narrating his adventures. You know Sheldon the tiny Dinosaur? It's sort of like that, except it's The Adventures of Tiny Ten.**

**I know.**

**I need a life.**

**God bless and have a Merry Christmas!**

**ThePro-LifeCatholic**

* * *

**Writing Prompt: 1****st**** Day of Christmas **

**Character(s): **10th Doctor, briefest hint of another Doctor

**Shippings: **None

**Genre: **General/Joyful/Christmas-y

**Rating: **K

* * *

_On the First Day of Christmas_

_The Doctor let me see:_

_A small Babe asleep in the hay._

* * *

The Doctor pulled his coat more tightly around himself as he trudged up the gently rising slope. Wind followed him from all sides, whispering in his ear, tousling his hair; snapping at his coat-tails and sliding cold, invisible hands across his neck and fingers. Shoving his hands in his pockets, the Doctor marched on resolutely, only coming to a halt when he had reached the top of the small hill. Here he paused, looking at his surroundings as thick clouds of steam wafted from his mouth. They spiraled into the air and dissolved, eaten up by the crisp black night.

A hilly countryside stretched out on all sides; behind him and growing ever more distant were the twinkling lights of a town that was currently filled to bursting with people. So many travelers had arrived, leaving little room in the brick houses for late-night visitors. Even though the Doctor was certain he could've found a cramped corner somewhere in the town, it wasn't his planned destination. Out here in the open, away from civilization; this was where he was headed. In fact, from where he stood on the hill, he could see his goal.

It was a cave that he came to in the end. A small, crowded place, bustling with strangers in rough robes. Whole families were crammed together; children sitting on the laps of their parents and older siblings. Some people were trying to get some rest, others were delving into a meager meal. Humans weren't the only occupants, though. Donkeys, cows, and even a few sheep made up the population of the cave. Hardly anyone noticed the skinny newcomer in foreign clothing who ambled up to the entrance and peered in, wrinkling up his nose as he was hit by an onslaught of smells.

"Small, cave-like stable," he muttered, peering into the dimly-lit crevice. "Bethlehem directly behind me…yep. This is the place." The Doctor ducked in, scanning the room with quick, brown eyes. His gaze finally came to rest on a trio situated closer to the stable's entrance, right next to the feeding trough.

A young woman was seated by the manger, one hand gently stroking an object that was nestled in the hay. Looking over her shoulder was an older man with dark hair and sparking eyes. They were smiling tenderly at the trough, and the Doctor had to squeeze past several people in order to get a glimpse of what lay within the manger.

Sleeping soundly in a cradle of crackling, golden hay was a bundle of white cloths, with a small head and tiny hands peeking out. The Child seemed oblivious to the racket around him, as He hardly shifted position. His chest rose and fell rapidly, and His eyelids fluttered as He dreamed.

The Doctor was not a gullible man. If someone told him that they were, say, the king of the universe, or the ruler of the world, or the creator of life, it would take an awful lot of questioning, truth-seeking, and skepticism before he finally bought the titles. But at the same time, the Doctor wasn't one to disregard truth when he came across it. And here, stuffed inside a smelly stable, lying in a bed of straw, was a Child who claimed all of those titles and more. And who was the Doctor to argue against what he knew to be the absolute truth?

He bent down, for a brief moment, one knee grazing the rocky floor. For a second, the Doctor was completely still, eyes fixed on the Baby in the manger. Then a sound reached his ears; the faint whooshing groan of the TARDIS' engines.

"That's what you get for coming here every year," the Doctor mused, getting up and pushing his way to the entrance of the cave. As he came out into the clear night, he stretched his arms and inhaled deeply. Then he started back the way he came, angling away from the cave. Wouldn't want to run into a past or future version of himself now, would he?

Behind the Doctor, the bright glow of a magnificent star bathed the hills with celestial light; and somewhere in that silent winter's night, carried by the bleak whisper of a chill wind, a song from Heaven floated to the rest of the world.

* * *

**Merry Christmas, everyone, and have a truly blessed New Year. I'll be seeing you around for tomorrow's prompt!**


	34. 2nd Day of Christmas

**The Christmas countdown continues oooooooooooooooooon…**

**The 2****nd**** Day of Christmas!**

**I'm going to move into a Doctor and Companion for every day, starting with Nine and Rose. We'll see how it turns out. By the next Christmas, I should have enough new companions to do this again. I don't know; I guess I'll see how it's received.**

**God bless and have a Merry Christmas!**

**ThePro-LifeCatholic**

* * *

**Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who. I don't own Christmas, either.**

* * *

**Writing Prompt: 2****nd**** Day of Christmas**

**Characters:** 9th Doctor, Rose Tyler, Jackie Tyler

**Shippings: **None, unless you'd like to imagine some Nine/Rose in there. I'm certainly not gonna stop you.

**Genre: **Friendship/Family/Comfort/Christmas-y

**Rating: **K

* * *

_On the Second Day of Christmas_

_The Doctor let me see:_

_A new red bike_

_And a small Babe asleep in the hay._

* * *

It had been a hard year for the Tyler family. Poor Jackie was struggling along, doing the best she could with two jobs. She was a strong, stubborn woman; difficult situations didn't deter her easily. But even with her hardy nature and careful, money-saving procedures, Mrs. Tyler wasn't in an ideal position when the Christmas season rolled around.

Her blond-haired daughter had started her Christmas list months ago, and she had re-written and revised it several times before finally submitting it to her mother for review. Despite the fact that each new list was different, with certain gift-choices taken off or added on, one aspect always remained the same. Taking first place among the desires of little Rose Tyler was a new, bright red bicycle; and it was the one gift that stayed on the list.

Of course, Jackie could see why Rose would want a bike so badly. Who wouldn't, when the only bike they owned was a rickety old thing with wobbly handlebars, rust creeping up the sides, and tires that seemed to run out of air as soon as they started turning? It simply wasn't fair for any child to have to endure a ride on something like that. And on top of that, Jackie felt that her daughter deserved such a present.

All the rest of the long months and weeks of the year, Rose was so good about their limited income. Time and again, she gave up going to the movies, or getting fast food from a restaurant, or picking out more expensive accessories when they went shopping. And Jackie knew better than most that these weren't such small sacrifices. For a twelve-year-old girl, these decisions were incredibly mature, not to mention hard to make.

That was why Jackie dreaded having to tell her daughter the sad news that Santa was probably going to have to put a rain check on the more expensive presents that year. The red bike was included in this.

With a sigh, Mrs. Tyler pushed the chair away from the stack of bills sitting on the table and went to the kitchen. Pulling a cook book off of the shelf, she flipped to the very back, where the Christmas recipes were located.

"We can still have a nice Christmas, presents or not," she told herself firmly. After all, Rose Tyler was twelve years old, going on thirteen. Surely she was old enough to understand why she couldn't get the presents she really wanted.

"Next year," Jackie promised. "Next year will be better."

* * *

"Mommy! Mommy!" A high-pitched voice squealed into the darkness. Rose wriggled onto her mother's bed, cuddling against the lump under the blankets. "Get up, Mommy. It's Christmas!"

Jackie moaned softly as she was shaken from her deep slumber. Rose hopped off the bed and rushed from the room. Jackie glanced at the clock. It was barely past five o'clock in the morning. With a reserved sigh, she kicked back the covers and searched the floor for her slippers. Then she shuffled into the front room.

To her surprise, her daughter hadn't buried herself underneath the tree. Instead the little figure, shivering in her pajamas, had her face plastered to the window.

"What's out there, Sweetie?" Jackie wanted to know.

"It's snowing!" Rose gasped joyfully. This was the first surprise of that day. Jackie was certain that the forecast hadn't called for snow, which had been a large disappointment for Rose. Without snow, Christmas wouldn't have felt like…well, Christmas. But sure enough, large flakes were drifting to the ground outside, sweeping along the sidewalks and covering the world in a fine white dust.

But the best surprise was yet to come.

"Why don't you look and see what Santa's brought you, since we're already up?" Jackie prompted. A sting of concern struck her as Rose turned to the small bundle of packages underneath the tree. How would she react when she saw that Santa couldn't get the bike to her? Would she understand? Would she be angry, sad, or simply confused?

So caught up in her own thoughts was Jackie Tyler that she failed to see Rose's face light up with joy. She didn't notice her daughter's mad scramble to the tree; didn't watch her completely bypass the wrapped presents in favor of an object partly-concealed by the leafy branches of the tree.

"A bike!" Rose shrieked, snapping Jackie out of her thoughts. She turned to see her daughter wheeling a bright red bicycle from behind the Christmas tree.

"Look, Mommy!" Rose cried, clapping her hands and dancing around the gift. "Santa brought me a bike after all!"

Jackie was completely at a loss for words. She stepped to the bike and touched it carefully. It was real enough; a brand-new model in excellent condition. This wasn't a cheap brand. Whoever had gotten it spent a small fortune to get it here.

Jackie collapsed on the cushions of a worn love seat. She racked her mind for an explanation. As far as she knew, though, no one owed her any favors. Mrs. Tyler hadn't told anyone else about the bicycle predicament, so who could have done this?

"Can I ride it?" Rose pleaded, looking hopefully at her mother.

"It's not even 5:30!" Jackie retorted. "It's still dark outside, Dearie." Rose's face fell, and her greenish-brown eyes dropped to the ground. Jackie looked at her for a moment before sighing and shaking her head.

"Alright," she relented. "But just for a bit."

Rose squealed in excitement, and ran to get her warm clothes on. In a only a few short minutes, she and her mother were out in the cold air. Rose was peddling with all her might down the empty stretch of road in front of the apartment. Snowflakes brushed past her face and danced through the sky, distorting background shapes.

Jackie watched her from the sidewalks, arms folded to keep some warmth to herself. She was still puzzling over the bicycle mystery when she caught sight of a figure. The stranger was a person, with a stocky build and dressed in dark clothing. He or she was leaning against the side of a nearby building, facing the mother and daughter. Jackie tensed up, expecting the worst.

"Come here, Rose," she order, keeping her eyes locked on the shadowy figure. Obediently, her daughter changed her course, coming closer to the house. The stranger moved just at that moment, detaching from the wall and beginning to walk away. Before disappearing from view, the person stopped and looked back. Then he raised a hand and waved.

Without quite knowing why, Jackie returned the gesture. Then the stranger was gone. Rose brought her bike to a smooth stop in front of her mother. Jackie took another sweeping gaze of the street, but they were alone now.

"Come on, Rose," she said, beckoning for her daughter to follow. "You've still got presents to open, and I'm freezing."

Taking her daughter by the hand, the two started for the apartment. Jackie stopped and glanced over her shoulder as a strange, wheezing noise reached her ears. It was only for a moment, though, and it faded away just as quickly. Shaking her head, she opened the door and followed Rose inside.

* * *

"_Who says I'm not, Red-Bicycle-When-You-Were-Twelve?"_

"_What?"_

* * *

**See you tomorrow for the next companion!**


	35. 3rd Day of Christmas

**The Third Day of Christmas dawns, and it's time for a new companion to be introduced to some Christmas spirit (or something along those lines…maybe some Christmas misery or confusion or something like that).**

**Welp…can't think of much to say, which is weird considering how long my author's notes usually are…I guess I could say that I'm self-learning a really awesome Christmas piano medley, which I'm extremely pleased about. It's nearly perfect, and I'm planning on blowing some of my friends away with it once it's complete.**

**And…yeah. That's pretty much it for now. **

**God bless and have a Merry Christmas!**

**ThePro-LifeCatholic**

* * *

**Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who, its characters, villains, or planets. But you see, the reason why they call it a "planet" is to remind you to "plan-it"!**

**:D**

**Get it?**

"**Puntastic!"**

**Ah…gotta love Doctor Disco…**

* * *

**Writing Prompt: 3****rd**** Day of Christmas **

**Characters: **9th Doctor, Mickey (Rickey?) Smith, Rose Tyler, Jack Harkness

**Shippings:** None

**Genre: **Friendship/family/Christmas-y

**Rating: **K

* * *

_On the Third Day of Christmas_

_The Doctor let me see:_

_Mugs of Hot Chocolate_

_A new red bike,_

_And a small Babe asleep on the hay._

* * *

Mickey Smith really hoped that the TARDIS trio wasn't going to leave him stranded that night. He was standing outside of a multiple-story building in pants, boots, and several sweaters. His face was turned towards the sky, and his breath puffed into the air above his head in small white clouds. But he didn't have to stand out there shivering for long.

The wheezing groan of the Doctor's bigger-on-the-inside-spaceship penetrated the otherwise fairly quiet night, and Mickey raced towards the sound. He ran around the side of the building, skidding to a halt on the salt-sprinkled sidewalk as the TARDIS materialized a few feet away. The blue doors creaked open, and Rose's blond head peeked out from within the wooden box. She waved frantically when she caught sight of her boyfriend.

"Hey, Mickey!" she called, rushing across the parking lot and planting a kiss on Mickey's cheek. "How've things been with you?"

"Oh, you know, same old," Mickey replied with a shrug. "I thought you guys weren't gonna make it."

"We wouldn't 'ave missed it for the world!" Rose exclaimed. "Isn't that right, Jack?"

At the mention of his name, the dashing captain Jack Harkness disembarked from the ship. "Not a chance," he responded, winking at Mickey and pulling him into a bear hug. Rose chuckled and rubbed her bare hands together.

"Oooh; it's cold, innit?" she mused. Mickey pushed Jack back and inspected their outfits.

"Looks like you guys just got back from summer vacation," he pointed out. Rose and Jack exchanged glances.

"Yeah, we kind of do," the Time Agent agreed. "We just got back from a lovely little planet called 'Space Florida'. I think you'd love it, Mickey. We should take you along next time."

"Take who?" a new voice asked. The Doctor himself, dressed in a dark green t-shirt and signature black leather jacket sauntered over to the small group (after making sure that the TARDIS was locked up).

"Take Mickey the Mouse here to Space Florida," Jack elaborated. The Doctor raised an eyebrow and opened his mouth, most likely to make some sassy comment. Rose, however, beat him to speaking.

"Can we go inside, please? I'm gettin' cold standin' here."

"Oh, yeah, 'course. Follow me." With Mickey in the lead, the foursome entered the tall building.

"What is this place, exactly?" Jack wanted to know.

"It's a children's hospital," Mickey explained. "A whole group of us is gonna be singing for the kids. You know, give 'em some Christmas spirit."

"Ah," Jack responded. The Doctor folded his arms. "Don't expect me to be singing anything," he muttered. Rose shoved him playfully in the arm.

"Come on, Doctor," she wheedled. "Where's your Christmas spirit, huh? Don't you want to make the kids happy?"

The Doctor rolled his eyes and seemed to shrink back into his black jacket.

"Hey!" Jack interrupted, butting into the conversation. "Isn't there a café nearby?"

"Yeah…" Mickey replied suspiciously, racking his mind for some sinister reason why Captain Harkness would want to know that information.

"We could get some hot chocolate for all the carolers," Jack suggested. "You know, as a nice present."

"Or as an excuse to introduce yourself to all of 'em," Rose snickered. Jack grinned and shrugged before offering Rose a hand.

"Care to join me, Missus?"

"Don't mind if I do," Rose responded, trying to smother a smile in her multi-colored scarf. Wrapping her arm around the Captain's, the two turned and went back the way they came, leaving the Doctor and Mickey Smith alone in the hospital hallway.

"They ditched us on purpose!" the Doctor exclaimed. Mickey shook his head. "Rose isn't like that," he assured the Doctor. "She'll be back." As he said this, the boy pulled two red Santa hats out of his coat and handed one to the Doctor.

"I'm not wearing that," the Doctor stated.

"Come on," Mickey prodded. "All the carolers are wearing these."

"Does it look like I care?" the Doctor motioned to his face. "Besides, I'm not singing, anyway."

"What; are you not a good singer, or something? Afraid you'll mess up and be embarrassed?"

To Mickey's surprise, the Doctor didn't answer right away. Instead he glanced down at his shoes, as if they were the most interesting things in the world. Finally, with an effort, he cleared his throat and spoke.

"I don't really know any of the carols," he began, tripping over the explanation with hesitation. Mickey's eyes widened as the full effect of the Doctor's reason struck him.

"Oh," was all he could think to say for a moment. He shuffled his boots on the floor, leaving black scuff marks. The Doctor huffed, but didn't say anything more and didn't look at Mickey. It was Rose's boyfriend who finally broke the awkward silence.

"I could…you know…teach you some of 'em, if you'd like," he offered. The Doctor faced him now, his face blank, but his eyes betraying how stupid he probably felt at that moment.

"Really?"

"Yeah, sure." Mickey shrugged. "It's no big deal. And the words are really easy to pick up on. You'll see."

The Doctor, however, still seemed on-edge. He glanced around before leaning forward and addressing Mickey in a low stage-whisper.

"Promise you won't tell anyone? Especially Rose and Jack?"

Mickey nodded, barely managing to suppress a smile. "You're secret's safe with me, Doctor."

So while Rose and Jack stood in line, waiting to purchase about two dozen medium hot chocolates (with extra on the whipped cream), Mickey and the Doctor stood alone in the white hallway of a children's hospital. Mickey would sing a phrase, with the Doctor repeating it. If he messed up on the lyrics or the rhythm, then Mickey would patiently backtrack and help him correct his mistakes. It wasn't too long before the human and the alien had plowed through "We Wish You a Merry Christmas", "We Three Kings", "The Good King Wenceslas", and "Deck the Halls".

"'Twelve Days of Christmas' is easier," Mickey was saying. "Each person does one day. If you want, you can do the twelfth day, 'cause you only sing that one once."

"Alright," the Doctor nodded. "How does it go?"

"Hey!" Jack's voice rang through the hall. Rose and the Captain had returned, burdened with glorious beverages. Harkness cordially handed two steaming cups to the other two members of their group.

"Here you go, Mickey Mouse," he said with a wink. "And here you are, Doc."

"Thanks," Mickey replied gratefully, taking a small sip of the scalding liquid. "Oh, and here are some hats for you guys."

"Oh, yay! Santa hats!" Rose donned hers with enthusiasm. She struck a pose and smiled at Jack. "How do I look?"

"Gorgeous," Jack laughed. "Come on; the other carolers need their hot chocolate, too. You can give me names, Mickey."

"Fat chance," Mickey shot back. "Not when you'll be making out with 'em all night long."

Jack took the head of the line, and the four of them continued their journey to a wide, main room of the hospital's first floor. Rose followed closely behind, with the Doctor and Mickey taking up the rear.

"I'll give you the words to the twelfth day when we get there," he whispered. "And everyone always gets lyric sheets anyway, so if you can't remember the words, they'll be right there in front of you."

"Thanks, Mickey," the Doctor responded with a smile. He pulled the red hat over his head and batted the white pom-pom out of his face. Mickey grinned and gave him a thumbs-up.

"It looks awesome on you," he said with a chuckle. The Doctor rolled his eyes.

"Merry Christmas, Doctor," Mickey said, patting the alien on the arm. There was a brief pause before the Doctor returned the gesture.

"Merry Christmas to you too, Mickey. Maybe you could come along with us, for a Christmas trip."

Mickey nodded slowly. "Yeah," he finally answered. "Maybe I will."

* * *

**I'm sorry that this is a day late…hopefully I can get the fourth day done today. This one didn't seem to be so much one-Doctor with one companion, but I wanted it to focus more on Mickey and the Doctor. **

**That, and it occurred to me that maybe the Doctor wouldn't know Christmas carols, and I thought it would be adorable to have him learn them. One of those really rare moments where the companion(s) knew something that the Doctor didn't, instead of vice versa.**


	36. 4th Day of Christmas

**Alrighty; fourth day of Christmas now, with the one and only Captain Jack Haaaaaaaaaaaaaarkness!**

**Enjoy and all that nonsense.**

**God bless and have a Merry Christmas!**

**ThePro-LifeCatholic**

* * *

**Disclaimer: Doesn't own Doctor Who, or its characters. No; I am not doing this for money, either.**

* * *

**Writing Prompt: 4****th**** Day of Christmas**

**Characters:** 9th Doctor, (Captain) Jack Harkness

**Shippings: **None

**Genre:** Comfort/Friendship/Christmas-y

**Rating: **K, mild K+

**Note: **I guess this could be seen as a continuation of the 3rd Day of Christmas, but you don't necessarily have to read that one to know what's going on here.

* * *

_On the Fourth Day of Christmas_

_The Doctor let me see:_

_Carols from the Past_

_Mugs of Hot Chocolate_

_A new red bike_

_And a small Babe asleep on the hay._

* * *

He is lonely.

It's OK; he's been lonely for a very long time now. He doesn't expect sympathy, nor empathy, and he most certainly doesn't want people petting him or smothering him with their "pity". For years upon decades upon centuries he's been all by himself. He has no family, no friends (that is to say, not any friends who stick around long enough to satisfy him). There is not even a planet that he can call his home anymore.

He is alone.

Most of the time he can ignore it. There is so much to see in the vast universe. The people, the times, the creatures, the thrill of life that he can never shake, no matter how old he gets. Time and again he's been rescued from dark thoughts because of a ray of sunlight, or seeing a flower in-bloom, or hearing a kind word from the odd visitor.

But there are times when solitude forces its way past his barricades and shrouds everything in a grey veil. He's plunged into a dark pit that he can't scramble out of, forced into the inescapable maze of his own memories. No solace can be found in these trying times; he must wait out the storm. Torn to shreds, he will emerge bloody and broken and will have to go about trying to fix himself again.

Christmas is one of those days that makes him feel especially alone. When laughter rings in the streets, when families and friends make peace and huddle together for at least one day out of the year, he is reminded of how he has no one. There are no guests, no one he can call family.

There is no home he can go to, and no one can spare the time to come see him. He manages to struggle through every year, but each year breaks him a little more.

He would have been inconsolable if it hadn't been for the visitor.

Every year – and if not every year, it's at least every other year – a guest comes to visit him. He too is alone and lonely. He too has dark eyes that are impossibly old, and he has lost so much and has nowhere to go.

Together they will talk, and they are the only two who can fully understand the other. The bond they share is unique; only they are burdened with it.

The visitor tells him about travels through time and space. He narrates life-and-death escapades, faces and friends that he's gained and lost, the beauty and horrors of a million different planets and solar systems.

Sometimes they sit in absolute stillness and don't say anything.

One year, though, the visitor pauses and shuffles his feet, not meeting the face of his friend for a moment. Then he speaks, slowly, haltingly.

"I've learned some Earth carols," he explains. "Would you like to hear them?"

His friend gives his consent; he'd be more than happy to hear the ancient tunes from a planet long since gone.

So the Doctor sings for him in his rough, Northern-accented voice. He recites the all-but-forgotten melodies of songs such as "Auld Lang Syne", "We Wish You a Merry Christmas", and "Silver Bells".

"I would sing 'Twelve Days of Christmas'," the Doctor said almost apologetically, "But I can only remember the twelfth day."

His friend smiles at this, and expresses his deep gratitude towards the Doctor.

_"You have given me more than enough happiness this Christmas, Doctor. I thank you for coming here."_

The Doctor doesn't respond. Instead, he steps forward, reverently placing one hand on the glass casing that surrounds his friend. He strokes the smooth surface, staring at the face behind the clear sheet of glass.

"Until next year, Old Friend," he murmurs softly, respectfully. "Don't die on me now, 'cause I'm coming back next Christmas."

It's the usual farewell, and the Face gives his customary response. He will not die, as the Doctor has ordered him not to. The Doctor gives him a particularly stern parting glance, as if to make extra certain his friend holds to his promise. Then he's gone, leaving his friend alone.

But he is not alone. Even as the rest of the universe continues to speed past, ever-changing, ever-dying, ever-leaving him behind with dust and a handful of faded memories. There is always at least one who is always there. At least one who will always understand, who will never leave, no matter what fate may do to tear them apart. There are some who stand the tests of time, because they are needed.

Yes, he is lonely.

But he is never alone.

* * *

** Yay! Nine and the Face of Boe. I wish we could've seen more of them together.**

** And for those who were expecting young, dashing Captain Jack, what can I say? I think this is my first Face-of-Boe-centered ficlet (it may be the first time writing the Face of Boe ever), and it went pretty well, didn't it?**

**See you tomorrow for the fifth day! We'll be getting into Ten next (my favorite Doctor, for those of you who haven't already guessed that :P).**


	37. 5th Day of Christmas

**It's already the Fifth Day of Christmas…one more day and we'll be halfway through the Christmas season…**

**I love this time of year, but I'd be even more happy if the weather was a bit colder…*sighs*. Ah, well. You can't get everything.**

***continues looking at desserts and hot dog recipes on Pinterest***

**God bless and have a Merry Christmas!**

**ThePro-LifeCatholic**

* * *

**Disclaimer: That's right, folks. I don't own Doctor Who, and I don't own Christmas, either. I don't own anything on this site. We-e-ell, unless you count my story ideas. Those are mine, I guess. **_**MINE.**_

***hisses like Gollum***

* * *

**ErinKenobi2893****: Thank you, m'dear! And it's great to see you around and active (somewhat) on fanfiction. I felt the need to post something that was oriented towards the true purpose of Christmas…**

**And an ornament with Ten kneeling in front of the manger would be completely Fantastic and Brilliant and Cool and all that jazz. ;)**

* * *

**Writing Prompt: 5****th**** Day of Christmas**

**Characters: **10th Doctor, Martha Jones, random U.N.I.T. agents

**Shippings: **None

**Genre: **Friendship/Humor/Christmas-y

**Rating: **K

* * *

_On the Fifth Day of Christmas_

_The Doctor let me see:_

_SURPRISE SNOW FIGHTS!_

_Carols from the Past;_

_Mugs of Hot Chocolate,_

_A new red bike;_

_And a small Babe asleep in the hay._

* * *

"Thanks for coming, Doctor," Dr. Jones said as she tramped through the snow in black boots. She was bedecked in full U.N.I.T. uniform; the snug black suit keeping her nice and warm despite the freezing temperatures outdoors. The man whom she addressed trailed along behind her in a suit and trenchcoat. It didn't seem the appropriate outfit for such weather, with the only winter protection seeming to come from a long, colorful scarf that dangled down to his trainers.

"Oh," he stated, casting a look behind him to admire his footprints in the white snow, "I always come when you call, Martha Jones."

Martha grinned, feeling a rush of warmth at his friendly words. The Doctor hopped forward a bit, grinning brightly whenever the snow crunched beneath his feet. Then he fell into step with the U.N.I.T. doctor, his expression suddenly business-like.

"So what, exactly, are you dealing with that needed my help?" he asked in a low voice. Martha bowed her head down, as if wary that she would be seen talking to this man.

"That's just it," she began. "We really don't know what we're dealing with. My team and I came here to investigate a strange structure completely sculpted out of snow. It appeared mysteriously overnight, but we only discovered it just after dawn. We don't know if there's anyone or any_thing_ burrowed inside it."

The Doctor furrowed his brows together, processing the meager information that Ms. Jones had just supplied him with. "We-e-ell, now," he started. Then he stopped abruptly, interrupted by his own thoughts. "Wait a second, 'team'? You said you had a team. Where are they?"

"Oh, well, you never seem comfortable when there's a bunch of soldiers with guns about, so I sent them off," Martha explained. The Doctor sighed loudly and looped the scarf around his neck several times.

"Martha, it might be true that I'm not fond of people with guns, and I'm not fond of members of U.N.I.T. But that doesn't mean that I won't accept their help if they're willing not to be stupid about the matter."

Martha shrugged and smiled. Pushing flyaways from her face, she pointed towards the far end of the empty park. "Over there. See it?"

The Doctor followed Martha's finger, and soon made out the chunk of snow. It had been piled up, with a smooth, steep slope in the front. Whatever lay behind it wasn't making any sort of movement, even as the two figures came closer to investigate.

"You're sure this is alien in origin?" the Doctor questioned, pulling out his sonic. Dr. Jones shrugged again.

"Like I said, we really didn't do that much investigating. Figured we'd leave that up to the genius." She shoved him playfully in the arm and winked. The Doctor shook his head, but smiled all the same. Then he stepped forward, his hand nearly brushing the sparkling snow wall. Pointing his screwdriver at it, be began to move him arm back and forth slowly.

The Time Lord was so focused on his scan that he didn't notice Martha suddenly crouch down. Nor did he see her begin to shovel snow into a small mound, and mold it carefully with her hands.

"Hey, Doctor!" she called. The Doctor wheeled around at the mention of his name, prepared for danger. Just as he turned, Martha straightened up, flinging the ball of snow she had made at her friend. Her aim was better than even she had expected; the ball smacked the Doctor directly in the face. He staggered backwards, blowing at the snow and trying to wipe the flakes out of his eyes.

As soon as his back hit the snow bank, several heads popped over the side. With loud laughs, the other U.N.I.T. team-members emerged from their hiding-place, sending down a hail of snowballs on the Doctor's skinny form. The alien sat for a moment, stunned motionless by the snowy onslaught. Then he scrambled to his feet, dashing to a tree several feet away. A trail of snowballs followed him, accompanied by triumphant whoops and jeers from the soldiers.

Skidding to a slippery halt, the Doctor ducked behind his cover. After giving himself a moment to calm down and recover from initial shock, he braved a look beyond the safety of the tree trunk. As soon as he showed his face, more snowballs came hurtling at him. The Doctor bent down, hurriedly beginning a collection of dusty white spheres. When he had completed about half a dozen of them, he gathered them up in his arms and rushed into the open. Several agents had joined Martha outside the fort; the Doctor flung several snowballs at them.

Laughter turned to shrieks as the U.N.I.T. soldiers scuttled for cover. A few of them, mindful of their extensive training, returned fire as the Doctor slid behind a cluster of bushes.

His breath was coming hot and fast; the chill in the air completely forgotten now. The Doctor struggled out of his coat and scarf, draping them over the branch of a nearby pine tree. Then he gathered up more ammunition and raced back out into the crisp air and cold sunlight.

For about an hour the fight continued; the ending being marked only when the majority of contestants were too tired to make one more snowball. Everyone was soaked to some degree. The U.N.I.T. suits, as protective as they were, apparently hadn't been tested for extreme snowball resistance.

Martha congratulated the members of her own team (many of whom had turned rogue and had thrown ammunition at _her_). Then her gaze landed on the Doctor. The Time Lord, for once, was acting as young as he looked. He was sitting on the snowy ground – too wet to care about the condition of his clothing – with his trenchcoat spread out like a blanket under him. He was taking handfuls of snow and flinging them at whoever passed within shot. But what Martha really noticed as she looked at him were his eyes.

The brown irises were shining with a giddy light, and the smile that lit up his whole face was a real one. His cheeks were flushed, and the tip of his nose was bright red. Locks of brown hair drooped like wilted flowers, despite his failed attempts to straighten them again. Standing up and brushing himself off, he bounced into the snow, hopping around and beginning to form patterns with his trail of footprints.

Shuddering against a sudden blast of biting wind, Martha was reminded of how cold she was, and how cold her other team-mates must be. Gathering up her things, she motioned for the other U.N.I.T. members to fall in-step behind her.

"Come on, Doctor!" she called. "We're going to get hot chocolate now!"

The man turned, waved, and rushed over while pulling on his trenchcoat and nearly tripping over his scarf.

"Where are we going?" he gasped when he caught up. He practically danced around Martha, hopping from foot to foot with seemingly uncontrollable, inexhaustible energy. It was all Martha could do to keep herself from bursting into laughter at the sight of him.

"We're heading back to U.N.I.T. base," she said. "Don't worry; I'm pretty sure they'll let you in."

"Do I need a pass?" the Doctor asked, plunging his hands into his coat pockets. After a few seconds of rummaging around, he finally produced a faded and worn slip of laminated paper, which he handed to Martha. She examined the ID card carefully.

"It's real, all right," she confirmed, giving it back to her friend. "But it's pretty old, and the photo needs updating. How about we get you a new one when we get there?"

The Doctor grimaced at the thought. "But that means sitting still for a picture!" he whined. Then he stooped towards Martha, bringing his mouth close to her ear. "Why'd you do this?" he whispered.

Martha smiled gently and flicked at the wet strands of brown hair. "Because," she answered. "I thought you could you some cheering up this year."

The Doctor stared at her for a moment, with an expression that she couldn't decipher. Then he broke into a huge smile and he draped an arm across her shoulders.

"Thank you," he said, pulling her into a hug. And despite being soaked to the bone, freezing cold, and nipped at by the wind, Martha felt a surge of warmth that flooded her whole body.

"No problem, Doctor," she responded, returning the gesture.

* * *

**Some Martha and Doctor fluff! Yay, me!**

**I don't think I've written Martha extensively, either. This is certainly the first time writing her as a member of U.N.I.T., anyhoo. I think I did fairly well.**

**See you tomorrow for the next prompt!**


	38. 6th Day of Christmas

**Well here we are, then. We're now officially halfway through the Christmas season.**

**I really don't want it to end…**

**I ALSO WATCHED **_**The Husbands of River Song.**_

**OHMYGOODNESS. THE FEELS ARE UNBELIEVABLE. AT FIRST I DIDN'T KNOW WHAT TO THINK, BECAUSE I SUPPORT ELEVEN/RIVER MORE THAN ANY OTHER RIVER/DOCTOR SHIPPING, BUT ELEVEN WASN'T PUT DOWN AT ALL IN THE EPISODE!**

**IT WAS FUNNY AND FRESH AND HEARTWARMING AND HEARTBREAKING AND I CAN'T BELIEVE HOW WELL-WRITTEN IT WAS FOR A MOFFAT EPISODE AND I STILL HAVE HOPE FOR THE FUTURE OF DOCTOR WHO!**

**Also, "Damsel".**

**That is all.**

**For those who haven't seen it yet, you're missing out on something fantastic.**

**(Something that I use to watch stuff like **_**Doctor Who **_**and **_**The Flash**_** is called put locker .is [just get rid of spaces]. You don't need to set up an account or anything, so it's a good option if you don't have Netflix. Or if Netflix doesn't have the latest seasons up yet.)**

**In unrelated news, I went to several stores dressed up as the Doctor in order to fulfill the requirements of a scholarship. I didn't think that scholarships would end up involving stuff I really liked. I had a lot of fun running around and acting in-character, despite the fact that no one made any noticeably Whovian comments.**

**Meretricious!**

**(And a Happy New Year!)**

**God bless and have a Merry Christmas!**

**ThePro-LifeCatholic**

* * *

**Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who. I don't own Christmas. All I own are the self-inflicted feels that do me more harm than good. It's a burden that I simply have to bear.**

* * *

**ErinKenobi2893****: I know…so much Doctor angst going on. And you're only on the third day, last time I checked. Trust me, it gets worse.**

**As to your Eight/Rose story, I'm afraid I'm the least qualified person to ask. I have heard of Pacific Rim, but I know nothing about it. At all. And I'm not learned in the ways and adventure(s) of the 8****th**** Doctor. It's nice to know that you value my opinion, though. I'm really quite honored.**

* * *

**Writing Prompt: 6****th**** Day of Christmas**

**Characters: **10th Doctor, Donna Noble, Wilf Mott, Sylvia Noble

**Shippings: **None

**Genre: **Hurt/Comfort/Friendship/Christmas-y

**Rating: **K, mild K+

* * *

_On the Sixth Day of Christmas_

_The Docto_r _let me see:_

_Tea after Midnight__,_

_SURPRISE SNOW FIGHTS!_

_Carols from the past;_

_Mugs of Hot Chocolate,_

_A new red bike;_

_And a small Babe asleep in the hay._

* * *

For the longest time after Donna Noble forgot, she received many items of clothing as anonymous presents on all special occasions. Dresses, tops, skirts, fancy pants; Christmas, her birthday, her wedding anniversary. One year she got a red-and-white-striped hatbox with a unique and lavish headpiece nestled within a bed of white tissue paper.

They were the perfect outfits, and they matched her as if they had belonged to her before she had acquired them.

Wilf and Sylvia would exchange glances whenever the unmarked box or bag was pulled out from its hiding place beneath the tree, but they never said anything. The wrapping paper was somewhat sloppily done, as if the person didn't have enough skill or patience (or both) to polish the final result. It was usually very glittery, or covered in scrolls and swirls and complex designs. A bow was often perched precariously on top of the package as a finishing touch.

Thankfully, Donna never seemed to tire of getting only clothes as gifts from her Secret Santa. There were times when she would stroke the fabric fondly, with an expression that blended perplexity with something almost sad. Other times, though, it was only happiness and excitement that shone forth from her countenance, and she would rush to try on the new outfit and show it off to the rest of the household.

Every year this happened, and every year Wilfred and Sylvia discussed how they were going to repay the man (or more accurately, alien) who bestowed (returned) such lovely gifts to his companion. And every year, the Christmas season or holiday or special occasion would pass by in a blur of laughter, cooking, cleaning, and gift-exchanging, with no time to consider the mysterious Secret Santa.

It was Christmas Eve of 2015 when Wilf Mott finally managed to catch him. Time and again the old man had failed to herald his friend's coming, and this year he stubbornly decided to do something more about it. So he retired to his bedroom early, not even bothering to go up the hill, so as to convince the women of the house that he was really in bed and asleep.

Once the lights went out in the rest of the house, and the low buzz of talking finally ceased, Wilf creaked open his door and quietly took account of the rest of the household. The front room was empty, save for pieces of furniture and the brightly-lit tree that stood in one corner of the room. Several packages had been stuffed beneath its leafy bows, ready-and-waiting for tomorrow's festivities.

The fire in the fireplace had faded into nothing more than a handful of red coals; Wilf stooped down and pocked them with the stocker until a few small, crackling flames began to dance merrily. He straightened up slowly, wincing as a jolt of pain traveled down his back.

Then he moved to the kitchen, where he attempted to get the kettle out of the cupboard without waking anyone. He was successful, despite the fact that he nearly dropped it several times. In went water and some tea bags. Reaching into another cabinet, Wilf produced two glass cups, which he placed side-by-side next to the stove. He then returned to the front room, where he settled himself on the comfy love seat. All he had to do now was wait.

Wilf had taken care to snatch a nap earlier that day, but tiredness still hit him hard as he leaned back on the cushions. The only sounds were the snapping of the fire, and the steady tick-tock of the clock on the wall. Despite his gallant attempts to remain wide awake, it wasn't too long before his eyelids began to flutter shut, almost of their own accord. His body relaxed, and his breathing came slowly and steadily. The warmth of the fire was perfect for fighting off the chill in the air on that cold winter's night. Little shadows flickered and raced across the walls of the room. Silence reigned in the house.

He must've fallen completely asleep, because the next thing he knew, Wilfred was starting out of his chair at the sound of the nob rattling. He froze, eyes fixed on the front door. A strange buzzing noise reached his ears, followed by the *click* of a lock. A shadow entered the room, and a silhouette made its way towards the tree.

"Hey, you," Wilf called softly. The figure froze up, the tips of his brown hair seeming to stand on-end. In a quick and silent movement, the unexpected guest faced the love seat.

"What d'you think you're doing, eh?" Wilf stage-whispered, "Are you pretendin' to be the Ghost of Christmas Present or something?"

The stranger considered these questions before shrugging and shaking his head.

"Just giving Santa a bit of a break," he answered, walking over to the tree. He crouched down and rearranged the presents before placing a small box carefully, almost reverently, on top of a larger gift. Then he leaned back to examine his handiwork.

For a long moment the two men didn't speak or acknowledge each other. Wilf, still settled comfortably on the couch, took in the man's appearance; from the bright red shoes on his feet to the sticky-uppy hair that seemed to have a life of its own. His face was long, thin, and shadows cast from the fire played on his countenance. Brown eyes, looking so old and tired, stared listlessly at the flames. Having grown uncomfortable with the silence, Wilf cleared his throat.

"I've got some tea brewing, if you'd like a cuppa," he offered. "Just don't wake the ladies. They retired hours ago."

For the first time since his arrival, the Doctor smiled. "Shouldn't you be in bed also?" he countered. Wilf shook his head.

"All those times you've been leavin' gifts for my little girl, and you thought I wouldn't find a way to thank you some time or another?" He huffed obstinately. "Sylvia and I promised to show our thanks, and this is how I'm going to do it."

The Doctor chuckled, and a glint of warmth flashed in his eyes. But it was soon gone, replaced by the tired coldness that came only with loss and rejection. Wilf fiddled with his fingers, despondency replacing his initial optimistic hope. It was Christmas, and one of his best friends was stuck in a serious rut. He had thought that he could bridge the gap between them, make the Doctor feel better for one night, but here he was with nothing to show for his plans.

"Please, Doctor", he tried again. "Just have one cup. You can leave as soon as you like. Just let me thank you. You do so much for everyone else; it's Christmas. Let the Noble family give you something for once." He looked to the Doctor beseechingly.

His guest continued staring at the flames, not saying anything. In the kitchen, the water inside the kettle had begun to boil, and a pleasant hum alerted Mr. Mott of the oncoming whistle of steam.

Bouncing up from the couch, Wilfred raced to the kitchen, moving the kettle from the stovetop just in time. He poured two steaming glasses of hot tea.

"How much sugar?" a voice queried. Wilf turned to see the Doctor standing next to him, busily dumping several spoonfuls of sugar into one of the mugs. With a grin, the elderly man shoved his glass across the countertop. "A couple scoops will do just fine."

With their tea prepared, the two returned to the front room. Quiet settled once more as the alien and the retired soldier sipped their hot beverages. The peaceful half-hour was gone too quickly, and their cups were soon emptied. The Doctor and Wilf washed the dishes, and Mott accompanied his guest to the door.

"Thank you, Doctor," he said as he opened the front door. The Doctor nodded and smiled.

"It's nothing much. Those clothes belonged to her, anyway. I couldn't very well keep them."

"Not just for them clothes, Doctor. For everything."

The Doctor's face smoothed into a blank slate. He sniffed once, loudly, and cleared his throat. Then, with a parting grin that didn't quite seem to reach his eyes, the Doctor stepped out of the house and onto the empty street. Wilf could see the Doctor's ship parked on the sidewalk just across the road. The Time Lord dashed over to it, patting its side lovingly before opening the blue wooden door.

"Hey, Doctor!" Wilf suddenly shouted, not caring at the moment for the sleeping women in his house. The Doctor glanced over his shoulder. Wilfred cupped his hands around his mouth and took a deep breath.

"Merry Christmas!" he hollered, probably loudly enough to wake the whole neighborhood. The Doctor stared at him for a moment, then threw back his head and laughed. To Wilf, that was the best noise he had heard all day long.

"And to you!" the Doctor called back. He waved, then disappeared inside the ship. The whirring groan of the TARDIS engines filled the night; Wilf kept his eyes fixed on the box until it had completely vanished.

"Thank you, Doctor," he murmured. "And a very Merry Christmas to you."

* * *

**Don't worry, folks. I'll get caught up; I promise.**


	39. 7th Day of Christmas

**Turns out I've messed up the days of Christmas. The 1****st**** Day is on the 25****th****, not the 26****th****.**

**I know…I'm an idiot.**

**Ah, well. I was behind anyway. Let's just get this done and over with, shall we?**

**Thanks to all those new followers/readers/favorites!**

**God bless and have a Merry Christmas!**

**ThePro-LifeCatholic**

* * *

**Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who or Christmas.**

* * *

**Writing Prompt: 7****th**** Day of Christmas**

**Characters: **10th Doctor, Luke Smith, Sarah Jane Smith, K-9, Clyde Langer, Rani Chandra

**Shippings: **None

**Genre: **Friendship/Family/Humor/Christmas-y

**Rating: **K

* * *

_On the Seventh Day of Christmas_

_The Doctor let me see:_

_A sled ride down a mountain_

_Tea after Midnight_

_SURPRISE SNOW FIGHTS!_

_Carols from the Past_

_Mugs of Hot Chocolate_

_A new red bike_

_And a small Babe asleep in the hay._

* * *

When Sarah Jane Smith and her adopted son, Luke Smith, went to bed on Christmas night, it was definitely in their own bedrooms in their own house. The red light from K-9's mechanical "eyes" had been glowing in the hallway, adding to the aura of warmth and safety that blanketed the house. Outside, the very beginnings of a snowfall had been starting, with the first handful of dusty white flakes falling from puffy clouds.

Luke was the first one to wake up. His excited mind had allowed for a restless night, and he was dying to get back at the 3-D puzzle which his mom (with the help of Mr. Smith) had given him. It seemed that he had just opened it and spread out all the pieces when it was time to go to bed. He sat up, kicking off the blankets and leaping to the ground. His feet *thunked* loudly on the metal floor.

He glanced around, confusion and bewilderment sinking in. Wherever he was, it most certainly wasn't his bedroom. Globes of glass hung down from the ceiling, the floor beneath his feet was metal and painted dark blue. A low, musical hum in the background reached his ears.

"Mom?" Luke called softly, still taking in his strange surroundings.

"Master Luke?" a robotic voice responded. Luke turned to see K-9 rolling through the doorway. "It's good to see you up, Master Luke."

"Where are we, K-9?" Luke demanded. "Where's Mom? How'd we get here?"

"You're all questions this morning, Lukey-boy! Are you always like this?"

Luke wheeled around, trying to place the source of the newest voice. He discovered who it was soon enough, for a skinny man with crazy brown hair and dressed in a dark green suit –complete with white tie and red trainers – bounded into the bedroom.

"Hallo, Lukey Smith!" he exclaimed, hopping from one foot to the other. He beamed; a bright, cheery smile that lit up his whole face and made Luke want to grin in spite of himself. Then…suddenly…

"Wait a minute." Luke stumbled back, one finger pointing at the familiar stranger. "You're…I mean…it's you!"

"Yep!" the Doctor agreed, nodding emphatically and popping the "p". "The one and only. In the flesh! Whatever phrase you'd prefer." He motioned to the doorway. "Now get some warm clothes on, Mr. Smith! Your mom and friends are waiting for you." Without waiting for a reply, the Doctor crouched down on the ground, eye-level with the mechanical dog. "And you, my marvelous pooch," he crooned, rubbing the top of K-9's head. "What has Sarah Jane been doing to you, boy? Huh? She hasn't been taking good care of you, has she? You're in need of a polishing, you are." Then, to Luke's surprise and amusement, the Time Lord leaned over and planted a smooch on top of K-9's head.

"Come on, Luke!" he demanded again before racing out of the room.

Seeing no sense in disobeying the Doctor's orders, Luke went to the dresser. Upon pulling it open, he saw a full winter outfit waiting for him. When he was fully dressed, he walked out into the main hallway.

"Which way…?" he wondered out loud. K-9 took a left and rolled around a corner. Luke decided to trust the dog and followed closely behind. It wasn't too long before he found himself in one of the TARDIS' kitchens. A huge stack of waffles was piled up on a plate in the center of a round table.

"Luke!" Rani called, peeking out from behind the waffles. She waved him over. "Come try these!"

"These are the best waffles in all of the universe, probably," Clyde interrupted. Sarah Jane entered the room, cradling a glass mug in her hands.

"Mom!" Luke rushed over. "What's going on? What's happened? Did you plan this?"

Sarah Jane laughed and shook her head. "Last night, I was fast asleep in bed. I wake up, and the first thing I see is the Doctor standing in the doorway watching me!"

"Oi!" The Doctor stuck his head into the room. "I wasn't watching you; I just happened to be walking by when you were waking up."

"Ah, I see," Sarah Jane said with a wink at the teenagers. "Lucky timing?"

"Exactly," the Doctor responded. "Now, since you're all up, let's go see the view outside, shall we?"

"But I haven't eaten yet," Luke started. The Doctor, however, grabbed Sarah Jane's hand and pulled her out of the kitchen.

"You'll have plenty of time to eat later!" he said impatiently, dragging his companion away. "Now come on!"

Rani, Clyde, and Luke exchanged glances before falling in line with the Doctor. He traveled briskly, maneuvering through the twists and turns of the TARDIS hallways with barely contained excitement. It was only a matter of minutes before they stumbled upon the TARDIS control room and the front doors of the spaceship.

The Doctor raced to the doors eagerly, yanking them open and shoving his four travelers into the scene outside. They fell knee-deep in several feet of snow. The sky above them was clear and blue, without a cloud to be seen. The snow crunched and glittered; the cold, golden rays of sunlight bounced off of icy peaks that dotted the sheet of white ground. The Doctor marched past Luke, Sarah Jane, Clyde, and Rani while they stood gaping at the beautiful scenery.

"Come on!" he called for the umpteenth time. A long, colorful scarf trailed behind him. Rani blinked and tried to shield her eyes from the glare of sun on the snow. "Is that a sled?" she asked, pointing at the red object that seemed to be following the Doctor.

"Yes it is, Rani," the Doctor responded, attempting to make his way through the snow without falling on his side.

"Are we going sledding?" Clyde questioned. He had to half-run, half-jump to catch up with the Time Lord.

"I don't imagine what else you'd do with a sled," the Doctor responded. Sarah Jane chuckled and watched the children struggle to keep up with her old friend. Taking up the rear, she made sure that no one slipped or fell too far behind.

"Where are you going?" she called, just as curious as the children were. The Doctor cast a look back at her. His eyes sparked, and that huge smile was still plastered to his face.

"Just wait and see," he replied mysteriously.

Fortunately, they didn't have to wait very long. They continued to flail their way up a steadily rising slope until the top was in sight. The Doctor raced ahead, putting on more speed and leaving his four companions to fend for themselves. When they were standing side-by-side on the hilltop, Clyde's mouth dropped.

"This isn't a hill," gasped Rani. The Doctor frowned and scoffed.

"'Course not, Rani!" he exclaimed. "What fun would it be sliding down an itty bitty hill?"

"But this a _mountain_," Luke breathed. A snowy path had been cleared in the side of the mountain, turning and winding its way down the steep side and twisting out of sight. The Doctor grinned and positioned the sled at the head of the trail.

"Don't worry," he rambled, "this sledding slope is completely safe. Invisible barriers all along the sides of the path, in case anyone falls off. The ride lasts a good five-to-seven minutes, and there's a teleport at the bottom, so you can come right back up and do it again!" He stuffed his hands in his pockets and turned to the children and Sarah Jane. "So," he said, "who wants to go first?"

"I do!"

"No, me first!"

"I want to sit in the front!"

There was a mad scramble as Clyde, Rani, and Luke straddled themselves across the wooden surface of the sled. In only a few moments, they were ready to go.

"Are you sure it's safe, Doctor?" Sarah Jane asked.

"Oh, don't worry, Sarah. I wouldn't have brought them if it wasn't safe, now would I?"

"Come on, Doctor!" Rani patted the sled. "There's still some room."

"Oh…um…no, Rani. I'm good." The Doctor moved closer to Sarah Jane. "You three have a go."

Luke opened his mouth to protest, but saw his mother wink and shift position. He shot a glance at Clyde and Rani.

"Get ready to start us off, Clyde," Luke ordered. Clyde set his feet firmly on the ground. Rani hid her face in her hands.

"NOW!" Luke suddenly shouted. As Clyde pushed off, Sarah Jane shoved the Doctor forward. With a yelp of surprise, he toppled onto the sled. He barely managed to scramble into a sitting position before the sled had picked up speed, rocketing down the mountain side.

Shouts from a shocked alien mingled with the high-pitched shrieks of the children. Sarah Jane laughed and watched the sled disappear from view. She checked her watch, then turned in the direction of the TARDIS.

Five-to-seven minutes. That would give her enough time to get the hot chocolate started.

She stepped into the TARDIS, sighing as she was struck with a blast of warm air. The sentient ship hummed a greeting. Sarah walked confidently through the hallways; the TARDIS would lead her to the kitchen. Just as this thought crossed her mind, she turned a corner and found herself standing in the doorway to the kitchen. A small package sitting on the counter caught her eye. Picking it up, she read the small tag that was attached to it:

"To my wonderful Sarah Jane."

"Oh, Doctor," she murmured, pulling at the string. Opening the little white box that lay within the wrapping paper, she gasped with delight. Out tumbled a heap of rainbow fabric, a long snake of soft yarn that was identical to the Doctor's scarf. Along with it was a brown fedora; a worn-looking thing, something that had received a lot of love and seen a lifetime of activity.

Sarah hugged the items tight, closing her eyes and taking in their scent. Then she donned the gifts, perching the hat on her head and wrapping the scarf around her neck with a flourish.

"Now," she mused, inspecting the vast array of cupboards and drawers, "Where's the hot chocolate mix?"

* * *

**Here's a bit of Sarah Jane and Doctor love for you guys. With Luke, Clyde, and Rani thrown in there for fun. **

**For those who don't know who the three teens are, they're some of the main characters in "The Sarah Jane Adventures", which is a spinoff series featuring Sarah Jane and K-9. I haven't watched it extensively, but I immensely enjoyed "The Wedding of Sarah Jane" Parts 1 and 2, with the 10****th**** Doctor making a guest star appearance.**


	40. 8th Day of Christmas

**Now I'm gonna be posting these rapid-fire…**

…**Depending on how long they end up being.**

**Or how long this temporary lull lasts at my place.**

**God bless and have a Merry Christmas!**

**ThePro-LifeCatholic**

* * *

**Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who, nor do I own Christmas. I don't own the time that I'm wasting on this site…but I like it here, so it can't be that wasteful, can it?**

* * *

**Meowers:**** Thanks for the review! YES, FUNKO POP TINY TEN KEYCHAIN IS AMAZING. That's awesome that you have a tiny TARDIS for him, too. The possibilities are endless! He can go on amazing little adventures!**

**Dog:**** Firstly, let me say this: very original guest name. ;) Also, I love how it's a guest named ****Meowers****, and then you reviewed directly afterwards. I don't know if that was planned or not…**

**About your request, though: I'll write prompts about a season no matter how far away from the season we are. Christmas season ends tomorrow (as of today, anyhoo), but I'll definitely write it if I'm feeling Christmas-y. It's Christmas time all the time for me. Keep checking out this story; I'll definitely get around to it. Sounds like it'll be a fun one to write!**

* * *

**Writing Prompt: 8****th**** Day of Christmas**

**Characters: **Eleventh Doctor, Amelia Pond, Rory Pond (Williams?)

**Shippings: **None

**Genre: **Friendship/Humor/Christmas-y

**Rating: **K

* * *

_On the Eighth Day of Christmas_

_The Doctor let me see:_

_Trees falling over_

_A sled ride down a mountain_

_Tea after Midnight_

_SURPRISE SNOW FIGHTS!_

_Carols from the Past_

_Mugs of Hot Chocolate_

_A new red bike,_

_And a small Babe asleep in the hay._

* * *

"This is all your fault," Amelia Pond stated, glaring accusingly at the Doctor.

"_My _fault?!" the Doctor exclaimed, raising his hands in the air defensively. "Why would any of this be my fault?"

Amy looked at him, then pressed her face to the metals bars of their prison, staring at the scene outside.

A handful of aliens dressed in red, white, and green outfits were struggling madly, trying to free themselves from several inches of goopy figgy pudding. It was quickly turning into a greyish-purpley cement. Hopping in and around them were small, furry creatures with white coats of fur. They were about the size of rabbits, with large amber eyes and three pairs of legs. There were about a dozen of them, and they were all dashing forward and back, nipping samples of the figgy pudding before it completely hardened.

Directly to Amy's left could be seen several creatures dressed in grotesque mouse costumes. They wielded swords and spears (very really looking ones), and their faces were turned upward. Above their heads, suspended by a coil of thick rope, was the one and only Rory Williams. He was clinging desperately to the rope and inching his way slowly upward. The mice shrieked and batted the air with their weapons.

Some children were busily trying to construct a snowman out of the fake snow that littered the ground, completely oblivious to their surroundings. The Doctor had tried to get their attention before with jammie dodgers, but none of them seemed interested.

"We were supposed to be seeing _The Nutcracker,_" Amelia said, facing the Doctor. The Time Lord fiddled with his sonic and didn't make eye contact with his companion.

"_This_ is not _The Nutcracker_," Amy continued, motioning to the pile of collapsed trees that had toppled over – seemingly on their own – no more than two seconds ago. "This is…what did you say this play was, again?"

"You don't have to rub it in," the Doctor muttered, sticking his lower lip out. Amy glared icy daggers at his face. Then she turned her attention to the stage outside, just in time to see an army of gingerbread men with sharped candy canes closing in on them.

"Oh, that's right!" she exclaimed. "We're now part of the futuristic and 'sophisticated' play known as _The Christmas Sacrifice_!"

"I'm sorry!" the Doctor squeaked, adjusting his bowtie. "Yes, I messed up. I apologized. Are you happy now?"

"Save us first," Mrs. Pond demanded, casting a look in the direction of her husband. "And save my husband. Then we'll talk about forgiveness."

"Tough companions," the Doctor muttered, running a hand through his hair. "Right then," he said, straightening his tweed jacket. Pulling a Santa hat out of his bigger-on-the-inside pocket, he perched it on his head and flashed an impish grin at Amelia Pond.

"Geronimo," he whispered.

* * *

** Here's a short, slightly random one featuring Eleven, with Amy being the main companion in this piece. **


	41. 9th Day of Christmas

**Hello, my beautiful/handsome readers/writers!**

**I return for the Ninth Day of Christmas…slowly but surely I'm catching up. Today (the 4****th****) is technically the Eleventh Day of Christmas, so I have a couple more to go. Fortunately, I know what the other one-shots are going to entail (somewhat), which should make writing them a bit easier and faster.**

**By the by, there is this AMAZING author who writes brilliant Tentoo fanfics (I'm sort of going into a Tentoo-obsessive phase at the moment). His/Her username is ****BookkepperThe****, and I'll leave you to go find his/her material and read it. The ones that I ended up reading and favoriting are as follows:**

_**Perchance to Dream**_

_**Chance Encounters**_

_**Public Relations**_

_**Duality**_

_**Seeing and Perceiving **_**– this one especially, as it deals with Tentoo and his relationship with Tony :D**

**So…I'll leave you with that as you wait for my long-over updates. There is some language in these stories, so be warned of that when you go to read them. It's sparse, though, and doesn't dampen the fanfictions to a point where they're ruined.**

**God bless and Merry Christmas!**

**ThePro-LifeCatholic**

* * *

**Writing Prompt: 9****th**** Day of Christmas**

**Characters: **11th Doctor, Rory Pond (Williams?), Amelia Pond

**Shippings: **Amy/Rory

**Genre: **Hurt/Comfort/Friendship/Family/Christmas-y

**Rating: **K

**Note: **This takes place after that little ending scene of _The Doctor, the Widow, and the Wardrobe_, when the Doctor goes to the Ponds' house for Christmas dinner.

* * *

_On the Ninth Day of Christmas_

_The Doctor let me see:_

_A proper Christmas Dinner_

_Trees falling over,_

_A sled ride down a mountain_

_Tea after Midnight_

_SURPRISE SNOW FIGHTS!_

_Carols from the Past_

_Mugs of Hot Chocolate_

_A new red bike_

_And a small Babe asleep in the hay._

* * *

After Amy invited the Doctor into the house, she flew in the direction of the kitchen. Her exclamations about the stuffing in the oven cause the Doctor to chuckle. He picks up the discarded water pistol and makes his way into the interior of the house.

He sees that they've done some re-decorating since he saw it last; it's been touched and now it glows with the warmth of a happy family. Rory rushes down the stairs, and the Doctor notices that he and Amy are wearing matching ugly sweaters.

"Merry Christmas, Doctor!" Mr. Pond cried, pausing to give the Doctor a huge hug. Then he noticed the weapon in the Doctor's hands.

"Mind if I see that?" he asked innocently. Without much thought, the Doctor relinquished the water gun. Rory disappeared down a hallway, and it isn't long before Amy's high-pitched shrieks reveal that the pistol has found a new purpose.

The Doctor made his way slowly to the kitchen, still immersed in a feeling of surrealism. The table-cloth under his hands seems real enough, and the chair he slides onto is firm under his weight. But it's like some amazing dream; even the smell of charred stuffing – combined with the delicious aroma of baked goodies – doesn't entirely convince him that he, of all people, was sitting down to a family dinner.

Rory emerges, dripping and laughing, from the kitchen. He's carrying glass mugs, which he sets oh-so-carefully down on the tabletop. He slides one over to the Doctor and grins.

"So, finally decided to come around, then?" he asks, taking a sip of the hot-chocolate-and-coffee-hybrid-beverage in his own cup. "I don't know if Amy told you this, but we expect you every year."

Instead of answering, the Doctor traces the frills on the table with one finger. His vision blurs, and a large tear squeezes from his right eye. It weaves its way down his cheek, leaving a wet trail in its wake. Rory doesn't miss it, and the smile on his own face fades.

Have they done something wrong? He knows how broken, how old and cold and tired the Doctor is. What sort of adventures has he been on? Was there some fresh loss, invisible wounds still bleeding that he hadn't told them of?

The Doctor reaches up and wipes away the tear. Then he licks his finger, savoring the bitter, salty taste. Rory gently, gingerly, reaches over and takes a hold of the Doctor's hand.

"Is everything alright?" he asks tentatively, softly. "Like, really alright?"

The Doctor smiles and looks up at Rory. He blinks rapidly, trying to focus on Mr. Pond's fuzzy outline. Then he nods and gives him a thumbs up. His smile is a watery one, and he wouldn't trust his own voice at the moment.

"You sure?" Rory isn't quite persuaded. "If you'd rather leave…"

But he can't finish his statement, because just then the Doctor laughs. It's a pitiful chuckle at best; a strangled half-sob at its worst. He grips Rory's hand tightly, as if afraid that it would slip away if he didn't hold it hard enough. He chuckles again (the only alternative would be crying) and tears course down his face in two small streams. They splash and stain the tablecloth.

Rory waits for the Doctor to collect himself. That whole time, he doesn't release his grip. After only a few long seconds does the Doctor finally get a hold on himself. Using the tablecloth as a tissue, he wipes his face clean and sniffs loudly once, twice. Rory's concerned expression, mixed with compassion and patience, makes him want to start crying again. He concentrates on holding back the next flow, which he feels is waiting to tumble over and begin the process anew.

"Rory…" he starts. He stops, waiting until he's certain the tremble in his voice is gone. "…It's been so long since I've had…" The Doctor motions to his surroundings, at a loss for words to describe what he'd once been a part of. "…Since I've had a house, and a Christmas dinner and…and a family."

He desperately hopes that he's not sounding like a sentimental moron. But Rory Pond isn't mocking him or turning up his nose at him. He's listening intently, and the Doctor takes comfort in getting rid of this nagging burden.

"I'm not sad," he says carefully. "I'm…happy. So, so happy." Another tear slips, unbidden, down his cheek. Almost angrily, he swipes it away and stares accusingly at the wet mark on his fingertips.

"Oh," is all Rory can think to say. He's seen and heard so many things from the Doctor, but most of it was rubbish, empty coverings to shield what lay beneath. For a short, rare moment, Rory has seen beyond the façade that his friend had crafted so masterfully.

"Doctor!" Amy's voice carries into the dining room. "Wanna help me with the gravy?"

Rory shoves his chair back. "I'll go," he says. He gives the Doctor's shoulder a friendly squeeze before exiting the room. The Doctor leans back in his chair, listening to the snippets of contented conversation that fill the house. His thoughts wander to a time years ago; Christmas turkey being sliced, a family seated around a table; laughter, Christmas crackers, and paper crowns.

"Humany-wumany" he mutters. Then he smiles, picks up his cup, and takes a sip of the hot beverage.

* * *

**And here we have some Rory and Doctor being together and sharing a moment. I really like Rory, and I felt like he was rather underrated in the episodes. Which makes me kind of disappointed. Ah, well. He's still a great character.**


	42. 10th Day of Christmas

**Moooooooooooooooooooore Eleven…**

**This time featuring the one and only River Song!**

**Ah…**_**Husbands of River Song**_** was amazing, you guys. It really was. I would strongly suggest you find some way to watch it. But not on put locker .is. **

**I know; I'm such a hypocrite. Thing is, I went and looked up the site after a friend of mine expressed concern about its legality. Turns out, I found some conflicting views about that site, so it's probably best to stay away from it.**

**I don't know where else you'd watch it…sorry.**

**I bet you guys are tired of seeing new chapter notifications by now…**

**God bless and have a Merry Christmas!**

**ThePro-LifeCatholic**

* * *

**Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who or Christmas. I own the planet Klarklar.**

* * *

**Writing Prompt: 10****th**** Day of Christmas**

**Characters: **11th Doctor, River Song

**Shippings: **Eleven/River

**Genre: **Romance/Friendship/Family/Christmas-y

**Rating: **K, K+

* * *

_On the Tenth Day of Christmas_

_The Doctor let me see:_

_A lake of Frozen Silver_

_A proper Christmas Dinner_

_Trees falling over_

_A sled ride down a mountain_

_Tea after Midnight_

_SURPRISE SNOW FIGHTS!_

_Carols from the Past_

_Mugs of Hot Chocolate_

_A new red bike_

_And a small Babe asleep in the hay_

* * *

When the Doctor landed the TARDIS expertly inside River Song's cramped cell, she was already dressed and waiting for him. Her gown was deep blue, with long sleeves and silver swirls traveling up and down the dress in complex designs. Silver earrings dangle down, nearly brushing against her shoulders. Somehow, she had managed to get her wild mane of golden curls into a ponytail.

When the Doctor swung open the blue wooden doors, he had to stop and stare at the woman standing in front of him, tapping one high-heeled foot impatiently.

"Is there something wrong, Sweetie?" River inquired after several seconds had passed without the Doctor moving or speaking. He blinked, drawing in a breath of air and slowly exhaling.

"River," he murmured, stepping out and closing the distance between them. "You look…"

"A tad under-dressed, perhaps?" she interrupted, turning in a full circle. Then she slid forward, bringing her nose-to-nose with the man she adored most in the whole universe.

"You look beautiful," he corrected her. The Doctor leaned forward slightly, feeling River's breath against his neck. But he pulled back at the last moment, spinning on his heel and motioning for her to follow him into the TARDIS.

"You'll love the destination!" he exclaimed eagerly, rubbing his hands together and beaming like a five-year-old. "Let me just set the coordinates…" he trailed off and focused his attention on spinning dials, flipping switches, and showing off his flawless piloting skills. River rolled her eyes at his exaggerated movements. She could just have easily pushed a few choice buttons and landed them without a bump. But she sat back and let the Doctor do his thing; it gave her a bit of time to fix her makeup.

For once, the landing was a smooth(er) one. The Doctor snaps his fingers, and the doors swing open with a flourish. Even the TARDIS is on her best behavior for River Song that night.

The Doctor stuck out his arm invitingly, giving River one of his best smiles. "Shall we?"

River looped her arm around his, and placed her hand on his own. "We most certainly shall," she responded with a grin.

Together they advanced from the TARDIS interior to the destination outside. River gasped as she realized where the Doctor had taken them.

"Is this the Ice Rink of Klarklar?" she exclaimed. "I've always wanted to go here!" She flung her arms around the Doctor in a side-hug that nearly toppled him.

"No point in stand here gawking then, is there?" he queried. Grabbing a hold of her hand, he practically dragged her to the huge, glass entrance doors. A green-skinned alien in a red velvet suit was just locking them up for the night when the Doctor reached him.

"Sorry about the last-minute notice, but we've got reservations," the Doctor explained hurriedly, pulling out the psychic paper and sticking it in the alien's face. The doorkeeper glanced at it, then opened the doors and stepped to the side.

"Mr. Smith and Ms. Song," he said with a gesture. With a brief nod, the Doctor went inside, with River Song following close behind.

The two rushed to get their skates and step out onto the massive rink. The coating of ice on the pool was tainted silver (and it had nothing to do with lighting, the Doctor claimed). River spun and twirled and skated backwards. She laughed at the Doctor's attempts to execute a left turn that wasn't wobbly, and he flailed so that she was certain he was going to knock himself over.

Then, joining hands, they swept across the smooth, silvery surface, executing figure eights and other, simpler maneuvers. Sometime during their skate, the ceiling over their heads opened, revealing a clear night sky that glowed with the light of a million stars.

River came to stop, gazing upward at the pinpricks of cold light. The Doctor found himself staring at her face, illuminated by starlight and fringed with silver. He cleared his throat and adjusted his black bowtie.

"So…" he asked. "Do you like it?" River faced him, her eyes gleaming and her cheeks flushed.

"I love it!" she answered emphatically. Her golden curls trembled, as if they too were wriggling with uncontrollable, ecstatic energy.

The Doctor tentatively slid closer until their shoulders nearly brushed. Then, in a deliberate movement, he draped his arm around her, pulling her against his side. She sighed contentedly, making herself comfortable in her new position. The Doctor allowed his face to be buried in her hair; memorizing the scent of her shampoo and storing it away in his mind for future reference.

He was glad she had enjoyed it so much. There had always been that alternative option…

…But he shoved this thought away vehemently. He didn't want to think about that; not now. He forced the image of the two tickets lying on his bedroom floor to the back corner of his mind. Wouldn't have done any good for them to try going that night, anyway. He had called and canceled at the last minute.

He knew he couldn't run forever. A day would come when the reservation couldn't be put off, not for one moment longer. But today, thankfully, wasn't that day.

River Song snuggled closer to him, finding warmth and solace in being so near the man she loved. The Doctor, in turn, squeezed her hand a little tighter, reassuring her and himself that she was there with him.

Tonight, neither of them would be going anywhere.

* * *

**Eleven/River stuff. Yay! This is my first time writing their relationship as something that was really, obviously romantic.**

**This whole Twelve-Days-of-Christmas prompt seems like it's turning into one long, extended experiment of sorts.**

**I'm probably never going to write something so dedicated and demanding ever again (until next Christmas, that is…)**


	43. 11th Day of Christmas

**The Twelfth Day of Christmas dawns…and here I am with day eleven.**

**I hope everyone's been having an awesome and blessed Christmas season; we won't be seeing it again for a year and a day.**

**Isn't it cool that we're having a leap year? When I think about it, leap years seem like Doctor Who material. Where'd that extra day come from? What things could happen on just that day, once every four years? Seriously, you guys; I may end up writing something about that.**

**Anyhoo, onto the prompt!**

**God bless and have a Merry Christmas!**

**ThePro-LifeCatholic**

* * *

**Aww****: Thanks for the review, and welcome to the story! Also, I'm not sure if it was intentional, but I found it amusing that your review and your username are practically the same thing. :)**

* * *

**Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who. Nor do I own Christmas.**

* * *

**Writing Prompt: 11****th**** Day of Christmas**

**Characters: **12th Doctor, Clara Oswald, mentions of past companions

**Shippings: **None

**Genre: **Friendship/Hurt/Comfort/Christmas-y

**Rating: **K

* * *

_On the Eleventh Day of Christmas_

_The Doctor let me see:_

_A letter to Santa_

_A lake of Frozen Silver_

_A proper Christmas Dinner_

_Trees falling over_

_A sled ride down a mountain_

_Tea after Midnight_

_SURPRISE SNOW FIGHTS!_

_Carols from the Past_

_Mugs of Hot Chocolate_

_A new red bike_

_And a small Babe asleep in the hay_

* * *

_Dear Santa,_

_ It's me, the Doctor. I know it's been a while since my last letter. I stopped writing after some of my friends left. You know how it is. Someone you love leaves, and suddenly other things stop being happy and start being painful._

_ To be honest, I'm not really sure what to write, or what to ask for. I've got someone else now, her name's Clara. She's nice, very nice. She cares for me and sometimes she bakes me cookies. I'm sure she'd like something for Christmas, but I'm not entirely sure what to get her. Maybe you could give me some tips. _

_ I know that girls like chocolate, and hair ribbons, and boyfriends, but I'm afraid I'd eat all the chocolate, and she'd just loose the hair ribbons, and I'm completely lost when it comes to boyfriend material. She tried the boyfriend thing once…it didn't go very well._

_ But don't you __**dare**__ get her a puppy. We've had this discussion countless times, and I'm not going to keep it, no matter who gives it to her. So don't even try, no matter what she says or how much she inflates her eyes at you._

_ Actually, with some thought, perhaps you could dig up some parts so I can make another clockwork squirrel. I already have one, but I don't want it to get lonely, see? Being the only one of your kind is rather rubbish. But I don't need reindeer antlers or Christmas lights or decorations or eggnog or fruitcake. People keep trying to give me things that I don't actually want, let alone need. And if I see one more fruitcake, I'm gonna throw it at someone._

_ I wouldn't mind a bag of oranges, or Satsumas. Those are good to take with you, in case you have to eat on the go, as I find myself in need of doing constantly. But I've had enough with the tweezers jokes, and despite what Clara might say, I'm not in need of bottle openers._

_ I think I'm starting to rant now, so I'll stop before this gets any worse. And I can smell burning somewhere, which can only mean that Clara's got a soufflé in the oven that being ignored in favor of something else._

_ Maybe you could get Clara a cookbook._

_ Sincerely,_

_The Doctor_

* * *

**And Twelve decides to write a letter to Santa (without Clara's knowing it, of course). Imagine the field day she'd have if she found out. ;)**


	44. 12th Day of Christmas

**Twelfth Day of Christmas! Here I am at last, completely caught up and on the final day of the prompt.**

**So…does anyone have any great ideas for my upcoming 50****th**** chapter? I was thinking about doing something a bit more on the special side for getting that far into the story. But I have so many prompts to catch up on that I should probably get to those first.**

***shrugs***

**Starting and ending with Ten…can you guys tell I'm biased? :P**

**God bless and have a Merry Christmas!**

**ThePro-LifeCatholic**

* * *

**Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who, nor do I own the wonderful holiday that is Christmas.**

* * *

**Writing Prompt: 12****th**** Day of Christmas**

**Characters: **10th Doctor, the Master, mentions of Martha Jones, her family, and Jack Harkness

**Shippings: **DEFINITELY NONE.

**Genre: **Humor/Christmas-y

**Rating: **K

**Note: **I don't know why or how this came about. To quote the ingenious Sherlock Holmes: "It just sort of…happened."

This is a bit of a weird thing that my sister and I came up with one day when we were discussing crazy Doctor Who headcanons. I know that it's completely not-canon and doesn't make any sense within the context of the show…but my sister and I thought it was hilarious, and I'm going to post it anyway.

It's because I'm a rebel at heart who likes to live dangerously.

**ANOTHER NOTE: **Some of these were written by my sister, SimmonsButterflys.

* * *

_On the Twelfth Day of Christmas_

_The Doctor let me see:_

_A red scarf for Christmas_

_A letter to Santa_

_A lake of Frozen Silver_

_A proper Christmas Dinner_

_Trees falling over_

_A sled ride down a mountain_

_Tea after Midnight_

_SURPRISE SNOW FIGHTS!_

_Carols from the Past_

_Mugs of Hot Chocolate_

_A new red bike…_

…_And a small Babe asleep in the hay._

* * *

No matter who you are or what career you have, you will always encounter that one job that you will not like. It could be anything: babysitting someone who's extremely annoying, having to devote constant care to a spoiled pet, or facing up to an enemy.

If you happen to be the Doctor, you most likely end up doing all three at once.

* * *

**ThePro-LifeCatholic:**

_*tap-tap-tap-tap*_

The Doctor forced himself not to glance over the edge of the table. Instead, he kept his attention fixed on the partly-constructed gingerbread house in front of him. He peered at the gumdrops over the brainy specs – currently sliding down the bridge of his nose – and contemplated whether or not yellow and orange gumdrops should go side-by-side, or if yellow and red would be a better combination.

_*tap-tap-tap-tap*_

The Doctor snapped a candy cane in half and glowered at the pair of dark brown eyes that peeked over the tabletop. One finger was busily drumming a beat of four onto the wooden surface.

_*tap-tap-tap-tap*_

"_What?"_ the Doctor bit out. The Master considered the question for a moment before slowly straightening up and leaning close to the Doctor's head.

"Don't build the gingerbread house," he whispered hoarsely, a manic grin spreading over his face. "Just eat the pieces."

Then, without any added commentary or explanation, the Master crouched down again, disappearing underneath the table. The Doctor stared at the empty space next to him for a few seconds. Shaking his head and sighing loudly, the Time Lord returned to his Christmas craft.

* * *

**ThePro-LifeCatholic:**

"Are you gonna eat that?"

The Doctor bit down hard on his spoonful of chili, letting the hot pieces of meat scald his tongue. Swallowing and taking a moment to gather his quickly dwindling supply of patience, he faced the Master, who was watching him eat with a hungry look.

"Yes, I'm gonna eat it." The Doctor held up his spoon for emphasis. "I'm eating it, right now, in front of you. Why would you think I wasn't gonna finish it?"

The Master's face fell. "I'm hungry," he muttered.

"Tough," the Doctor replied, looking the Master right in the eyes. They held each other's gaze intently for a moment. Then, without breaking eye contact, the Master inched forward. Stretching out his arm in a deliberate motion, the Master took hold of the Doctor's unused napkin. Still without looking away, he brought it to his mouth, tore a piece of it off with his teeth, and began chewing it.

"That's not very healthy," the Doctor noted.

The Master ripped off another piece nonchalantly, stuffing it into his mouth while maintaining an even stare with the elderly Time Lord.

* * *

**ThePro-LifeCatholic:**

The Doctor opened up the fridge and grinned when he caught site of the eggnog carton shoved to the back. Martha had probably put it there to hide it from him.

"Too bad for Martha," he said to the empty kitchen. "She's just gonna have to find a better hiding spot next time." Pulling the eggnog off of the shelf, the Doctor shut the fridge…and jumped back when the Master was revealed to have been standing directly behind the door.

Not giving the chance to say anything, the Master stepped forward, eyes wide.

"Don't shake the eggnog before you pour it," he advised. Then with a short chuckle, he backed out of the kitchen.

* * *

**ThePro-LifeCatholic:**

"Pour in the hot chocolate mix…_before_ adding the hot milk."

Spinning around on his heel, the Doctor threw the crumpled hot-cocoa-mix-packet at back of the retreating Master's head.

"Hey!" he yelped, turning on his archenemy. "I just fixed my hair!"

"Your fault," the Doctor retorted curtly, turning back to his cup of hot chocolate.

Needless to say, the Doctor was much more to say about hair injustices after several packets had been emptied out onto his own head.

* * *

**ThePro-LifeCatholic:**

"Here you go," the Doctor said one day, tossing a wrapped package at the Master's head. The Time Lord snatched it before it slammed into his face and cast a suspicious look at the Doctor. He examined the present thoroughly, turning it over several times, feeling it, shaking it, and even licking the paper. Finally, with a shrug, the Master flung all pretenses of his well-being aside and ripped open the gift. There, lying amidst the shreds of decorative paper, was a red scarf.

"I figured it would be more comfy than that collar you're always wearing," the Doctor explained. He had been watching the Master this whole time, and couldn't hold back the small smile as the Master inspected his present.

"It's nice, I guess…" the hoodie-Time-Lord finally grunted. His eyes lit up and the ends of his mouth pulled up. "…I could hang someone's dog with this."

Any nostalgic fondness that the Doctor was in danger of feeling a second ago vanished completely.

"I bet you could," he conceded with a deadpan expression, sounding more exasperated than anything else.

* * *

**SimmonsButterflys:**

The Master peered sideways at the Doctor, watching him sign Christmas cards with a flourish.

"Why are you writing those? It's the middle of summer." The Master finally asked in a monotone voice.

"It's a time-machine." The Doctor stated, "Besides, this means that I don't have to do it later."

The talking paused for a few moments before the Master spoke up again,

"Can I do one?" He asked eagerly. The Doctor looked up with a hint of surprise on his face,

"You want to make a Christmas card?" he queried. The Master shrugged.

"Sure, why not? I mean, you're doing it." The Doctor tilted his head to one side,

"I've got friends. You don't have friends. Who are you going to send a card to?"

"I don't know, I was thinking that I'd send it to Rassilon…but he's dead." Another pause, "Maybe I'll send one to myself in the past; that way I can say that I did something nice for myself at least once in my life."

"…Okay then…" The Doctor reached over for the stamps but met an empty spot at the table, "Where are the stamps?" he asked the blond man sitting next to him. The Master glanced casually behind him in the direction of the oven.

"I baked them into a fruit cake," he stated.

"What?" the Doctor inquired sharply. "Why would you do that?"

"Because no one likes fruit cake; even _I _don't like it! OH!" Here the Master's voice dropped to a whisper and his eyes gleamed a dangerous light, "don't put the return address on any of the letters." Then he slipped under the table. The Doctor sat still for a few seconds before looking under the table,

"You know I can see you, right?"

"Shhh…"

* * *

**ThePro-LifeCatholic:**

Martha turned on the oven light and peered through the thick glass.

_Perfect,_ she thought happily. The turkey looked and smelled delicious. Jack and the Doctor had been growing increasingly impatient, moaning and carrying on about how famished they were. Well, now; Ms. Martha Jones would certainly give them something worth waiting for.

Pulling on a pair of oven mitts, Martha opened the oven door, backing up as a blast of hot air rushed out and into her face. Then she stooped forward, braving the heat and lifting the cooked foul off of the metal rack.

It was only after she had placed it on the stovetop and turned off the oven that Martha noticed something…different about her Christmas masterpiece.

"There is a chunk out of this thing!" she hollered, "And it certainly wasn't there _before _I put it in the oven!"

"MASTER!"

Somewhere inside the TARDIS, a blond-haired culprit began laughing manically at the top of his lungs.

* * *

**SimmonsButterflys:**

The Master whined again as the Doctor handed him another package.

"Whyyyyyyyyyyyy are we doing thiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiis? he demanded for the thousandth time that morning,

"We're taking some of these things down to the children's hospital. I'm not using this stuff anymore so I'm donating it."

"We could do something else with it."

"Like what?"

"…Light it on fire."

"No."

"But-"

"No."

"…Fine," the Master grumbled as the two of them trudged out of the TARDIS with their burdens. As they made their way down the street the Master couldn't help making suggestions to the Doctor along the way.

"Don't use the crosswalk," he hissed into the other Time Lord's ear, "Everyone else isn't using it; that makes it okay."

"No, it doesn't." The Doctor stated as he walked between the two white lines. The Master plodded along behind him, half-on/half-off of the crosswalk with a scowl on his face.

"See those kids? Tell them Santa's not real."

"Those are teenagers; I highly doubt they believe in Santa Clause."

"Tell that person that Christmas is tomorrow. It'll be funny to watch them freak out."

"One more word from you and I'm not buying you hot chocolate today."

* * *

**SimmonsButterflys:**

The Doctor really didn't want to stay in someone's house for Christmas but Martha had insisted and had insisted brilliantly, for that matter. Now here he was with a cup of tea in his hand and staring out the window at the falling snow. Why had he agreed to spend Christmas here? The Jones family was up to its old noise again.

"That's what you get with humans though, right?" The Doctor asked the empty room.

"Yep. They haven't changed a bit."

The Doctor spun around at the sound of another voice. His eyes scanned his surroundings, but he couldn't see anyone. He edged closer to the middle of the room.

"Yes, just perfectly in line with human nature…" He said out loud.

"Tell me about it. Did you hear what they're arguing about? It's about how much ice cream there should be in one serving! That's ridiculous! You just take the carton and run!"

The Doctor's eyes narrowed and he walked swiftly across the room and over to the chimney. With the aid of a poker he reached into the hollow space and thrust his arm upward several times. It wasn't long before he heard a yelp and then a crash as the Master tumbled out of the chimney.

"Really?" the Doctor demanded hotly. "Are you following me?"

The Master grinned and turned his sooty face up at his elder, "I made the carpet dirty. Now they have to vacuum…on Christmas." The Doctor rubbed his hand against his face.

"I don't believe this."

* * *

**Guess who will be writing more Ten and the Master in the future?**

** That's right: me.**

** Gosh, I had so much fun writing this.**

** Now I should probably go and work on my other poor, neglected Doctor Who stories…**

** Thanks to all you readers/followers/favoriters for making my Christmas season even more awesome!**


	45. Prompt 78: Battle Arena

**Hey, guys.**

** School started up again, so updates are going to be sporadic (I mean, it's not like they weren't already…)**

** I've been wanting to update **_**The Fountain of Youth**_**, but I've hit a rut and can't think of what to write next. I mean, it's in my head, but I don't have a clear picture. It's kind of annoying. But I will eventually get the next chapter finished, because I like the overall story idea and I need to complete it.**

** Oh, and I've discovered the wonder that is **_**Portal **_**songs. I know next-to-nothing about the game itself and its characters, but I know enough to tell you who GLaDOS and Chell are, and Caroline (to some extent). And I know enough to now realize how unbelievably catchy GLaDOS' songs are. I've practically been forced to listen to them, because they keep replaying in my head otherwise.**

** So…yeah. For those who want to listen to them, they're called "Still Alive", "Want You Gone", and "You Wouldn't Know". The third one is from **_**Lego Dimensions**_**, so you might want to type that in when searching for it. They're all clean, and each one is from GLaDOS' point of view. She's singing to the character Chell.**

** You might need to do some Wikipedia research before listening to the songs. But you don't have to; they're fine on their own (although some background clears up the meaning of some of the stanzas).**

** God bless and have a great day (or night)!**

** ThePro-LifeCatholic**

* * *

**Writing Prompt #78: Battle Arena**

**Characters: **9th Doctor, Captain Jack Harkness, Rose Tyler

**Shippings: **none

**Genres: **Humor/Friendship

**Rating: **K

**Prompted by: **ErinKenobi2893

**Summary: **You should write something where Jack and the (Tenth) Doctor get into a slap fight. X-D

**Note: **When planning out this prompt, the first Doctor who came to mind was actually the 9th Doctor. I could see it perfectly, with the coffee and all that jazz. I hope that doesn't bother you, ErinKenobi2893.

* * *

Rose shuffled into the TARDIS kitchen. Yawning, rubbing her eyes, and pulling strands of hair out of her mouth, she made a bee-line for the tea cupboard. The figure in a black jacket was watching her from where he perched on the edge of a bar stool.

"Mornin'," she muttered, opening the wooden door and rummaging through boxes of tea. Grabbing one, she yanked it out and stared at the name printed on the cardboard. Its title gave her no enlightenment as to what flavor the tea was, so she stuffed it back and reached for another.

The Doctor gave her no response; he continued to watch her with piercing blue eyes, his large hands cradling a white mug. A spiral of steam floated up from the contents within the cup, enveloping the Doctor's face in a thin veil of smoke before swirling out of sight above his head.

Rose opened the fridge and began to examine its contents. She glanced over her shoulder at the Doctor and hid a smile. In her days of traveling in the TARDIS, she had yet to wake up before the Doctor did. He loved the early morning hours, and he didn't sleep that much, besides.

But when it came to actually being awake and functioning, he was definitely lacking in that area. Every morning she would find him sitting at a kitchen table (there was more than one kitchen in the TARDIS), sipping a large mug of coffee. Only when the cup was emptied did the Doctor begin to perk up, becoming chatty and good-natured, ready for anything that might come their way that day. But for the moment, the Doctor wasn't going anywhere, wasn't in the mood for doing anything, and was going to avoid having a conversation with anyone until the coffee was gone.

Rose had just put an everything bagel into the toaster when Jack Harkness, looking very un-professional in mismatched pajamas, entered the kitchen. His dark brown hair was mussed, with one sticking up crazily into the air. He rubbed his eyes, blinking rapidly as he stepped into the light.

"Mornin'," Rose said again, aiming the greeting at the captain. Jack yawned and stretched.

"Hey," he drawled. Sidestepping Rose, Jack opened the fridge and pulled out a cardboard box. Flipping open the lid, he pulled out a piece of cold ham-and-pineapple pizza. Rose wrinkled her nose in disgust as he took a large bite.

"Why're you eating pizza for breakfast?" she wanted to know. Jack shrugged and tore off another piece.

"'Cause he's too lazy to make eggs," the Doctor supplied. He shifted position on his chair and stirred some more cream into his coffee. The white liquid clouded his beverage, turning it hazel-golden.

"That's it; you got me." Jack chuckled amicably. The Doctor huffed in response and went back to staring at the fancy designs carved into the table-top. Jack sidled over, pulling out a chair and sliding it closer to the Doctor's seat. Then he collapsed onto the wooden chair, splaying his legs out and letting his arms slam against the surface of the table. The Doctor glared at him and scooted his chair over.

Rose slapped a generous amount of cream cheese onto her bagel. As she prepared her breakfast, she peeked into the dining room. Jack Harkness, being his usual borderline-immature-self, was acting too chipper, too early in the morning, and too close to the Doctor. Tension was rising by the second, and Rose feared that someone – namely, Jack – was going to step over the line with their antics.

Jack, meanwhile, was eyeing the Doctor's mug. He had been in the TARDIS long enough to know that the Time Lord relied heavily on his morning coffee for that first boost of energy. He was also feeling particularly restless. Teasing someone seemed the perfect outlet, and the grumpier someone was, the more pleasure he got out of teasing them. So after several seconds of quiet planning, Jack began inching his hand across the table. He made his fingers walk along its wooden surface, closer to the Doctor and his precious mug of coffee.

Jack was more than halfway to his goal when the Doctor finally reacted. In a lightning-fast movement, the Doctor reached his own arm out, bringing his hand down hard on Captain Jack's approaching hand.

The captain jerked back in surprise. Rose, who had seen everything from her spot in the kitchen, ducked down and buried her face in her arm, trying to smother a giggle. The Doctor glowered at Jack before returning to his coffee. Jack massaged his hand, then launched another attack. His fingers danced along the edge of the table, taking a new, alternate route towards the Doctor's cup. This second attempt was met with the same rejoinder as the last time.

"Hey!" Jack exclaimed, his expression portraying betrayal and confusion. Rose had to seek shelter underneath the counter again. The Doctor raised an eyebrow when he heard her choked laughter. Jack grinned and gave the Time Lord a thumbs-up. He stared at the captain for a moment without saying anything, then reached a hand out and slapped him on the shoulder.

"Didn't you do enough damage?" Jack demanded. His gruff tone was betrayed by the sparkling of mischief in his eyes. He returned the gesture with a light strike on the Doctor's left arm. The Doctor immediately answered the cuff with another buffet.

When Rose re-emerged from behind the kitchen counter, she found that the two men in the dining room were in the middle of a full-fledged slap-attack. She watched them for several seconds, forcing her expression to remain deadpan. Finally she cleared her throat.

"I'm gonna take a shower," she announced, struggling to keep a monotone. "Maybe when you guys are done acting like three-year-olds, I'll be done gettin' ready, and we can actually do somethin' worthwhile today."

She paused to see if her little speech would have any effect. The Doctor and Jack, however, kept hitting each other, not even bothering to turn her direction.

With a loud sigh, Rose stuffed the last of her bagel into her mouth and left the kitchen.

* * *

***rushes away to type more of _The Fountain of Youth_***


	46. Prompt 48: Stuck in a Video Game

**Hi, guys. **

**I've been busy doing school and stressing out over assignments.**

**I'm taking Comp 2 with a focus on technical writing, and it's…tough. If resumes and JALs are so darn important, why couldn't they be easier to write?!**

**Anyhoo, I figured I'd give you guys something to read, and give myself something else to focus on for a little bit before returning to resume-writing.**

**I hope you're all doing well in your own studies!**

**OH…quick note. This prompt is a crossover between Doctor Who and another company's product. I don't want to give it away; keep reading and find out.**

**God bless and have a great day (or night)!**

**ThePro-LifeCatholic**

* * *

**Writing Prompt #48: Stuck in a Video Game**

**Characters: **Martha Jones, Captain Jack Harkness, random U.N.I.T. agent, crossover characters (don't want to give it away right at the beginning, you guys), mentions of the 10th Doctor

**Shippings: **None, unless you want to imagine Jack Harkness/Everyone-within-a-five-foot-radius

**Genre: **Mystery/Suspense/Angst/Terror

**Rating: **T (material that could be considered disturbing for younger readers)

**Note: **Unlike the _Jessica Jones_/Doctor Who prompt I did earlier, this is an actual crossover. My other one seemed like an implied crossover, without any crossing-over actually happening.

* * *

**Disclaimer: **I don't own _Doctor Who_, nor do I own the other characters that will be appearing in this one-shot. I own the random UNIT peoples. I don't own any exploding citrus, either, but that has nothing to do with the story you're about to read. :D

* * *

As someone who could live forever (practically), it wasn't uncommon for Jack Harkness to meet the same people off and on throughout the years. On one hand, it was kind of nice, being able to see a familiar face every now and then. It made immortality a bit easier to bear, and the creeping pace of the centuries didn't seem quite so long and slow. However, there was always the possibility that the face he saw wouldn't know him, or vice versa. So many times he had passed by a good friend, only to find that the cheery welcome he longed to see was replaced by the blank stare of a stranger when they looked at him.

And they said that ignorance was bliss.

A crackle of energy pulsed around him as his feet touched ground on a cement sidewalk in the middle of a large city. Jack spun himself in a full circle, taking note of the towering skyscrapers, with their tinted windows and flaking paint. He shook off the wave of dizziness and staggered to the nearest wall. Time-jumping always left that initial feeling of disorientation, no matter how many times one did it. The fact that his Time Vortex Manipulator was more of a piece of decorative junk than anything else at the moment probably had something to do with the uncomfortable journey…

Jack reeled to the side, clutching the corner of a building. He stooped forward and swallowed hard, trying to force down the vomit that he could feel squeezing its way up his throat. Scrunching into a small ball, he slid to the ground and wrapped his arms around his stomach, waiting for the nausea to pass. He scrambled to his feet again, however, when the sound of approaching footsteps reached his ears.

Of all the life forms he could have named within a space of three seconds, a past companion of the Doctor was pretty far down the list. A companion that he had met personally was the farthest option from his mind. So it was quite a shock to the befuddled captain when Martha Jones came into his range of sight. She was dressed in jeans and a baggy sweater, with the hood partially pulled up. Strands of black hair fell in her face, which was angled at the ground beneath her feet. Her arms were crossed and she kept glancing at her surroundings, clearly on-edge and alert for…something that was probably not good.

For a moment, Jack considered waving and/or letting out a friendly whoop. But a flash of reason smashed his friendly thoughts to smithereens, tearing him back to the harsh reality.

_She might not know who you are._

His smile faded, and Jack let his arms fall limply to his sides. He watched her as she made her way slowly towards him, then spun sharply on her heel and backtracked the way she had come. The hollow _thunk-thunk_ of her black boots was the only sound, and it soon faded into emptiness. Jack Harkness leaned back against the hard surface of the wall, closing his eyes and blocking out the world around him. Deep within, he could feel that all-familiar blackness forming deep in his chest, rising to his face like a cloud of smoke. Almost immediately, he countered the cloud with a stab of disgust and self-shame. Was he giving into _loneliness? _ Was he so desperate that he'd actually contemplate tearing apart reality for the sake of having someone to _talk to_?

He shoved the cloud down, letting it settle in his stomach like a stone. It couldn't hurt anyone but himself if he left it there. Then with a shake – as if that would somehow dispel his tainted thoughts – he pushed himself away from the wall. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he took a moment to really look at where he had ended up. A faded street sign attached to a leaning telephone post gave him no enlightenment as to his location. With a loud sigh, he kicked a piece of rubble and began tramping forward. Might as well figure out where he was and do some exploring while he was passing through.

"Jack?"

He whipped his head around, eyes frantically scanning the crumbling buildings. In a moment, his gun was in one hand, fingers resting lightly on the trigger. Then wariness gave way to immense relief when the source of the voice emerged from an alley-way to his left.

"Jack!" Martha called, waving her arms over her head. She was smiling, dark irises sparking with unconcealed pleasure. The hood slipped down her back, leaving her strands of braided hair to fly out behind her as she rushed towards him.

Relief melted within the captain, completely overwhelmed by a wave of joy. Even the black cloud dissipated; he could almost physically feel it shriveling up into nothingness. In the short space of time it took to close the distance between them, the two friends were right in front of each other. Martha didn't need any prompting from Captain Harkness; as soon as he was within range, she threw her arms around him. Jack, on the other hand, stood still, letting the warmth of the embrace course through his body, driving back the choking years of solitude. Finally, Martha wiggled herself out of his arms and stood back. That large smile was still plastered to her face, and Jack realized that the corners of his mouth were twitching upward unintentionally.

"Hey, Martha," he said, finding his voice suddenly. "How've things been?"

Martha shrugged. "Oh, you know. Working at UNIT., protecting the Earth, same-old."

Jack threw his head back and laughed. _ Oh, how good that felt. How long had it been?_ "Sounds like you've been busy."

Martha smiled again, ducking her head down. "Just doing what needs to be done," she half-muttered.

"So what brings you to such a…scenic location?" Jack prodded, curiosity overcoming the initial feelings of joy and comfort. "Not exactly the ideal vacation hotspot, if you ask me."

When Martha raised her head again, looking up at Jack, he knew that he had hit a damaged nerve. Any happiness that had been on her face had been wiped away. She crossed her arms over her chest, fighting off an invisible gust of cold air.

"A failed mission," she admitted. Each word was bitter, hollow. "I made a mistake, and I don't know how to fix it."

Jack moved closer to the UNIT doctor, sliding his arm around her shoulders. She rested her head against him, listening to his heartbeat.

"What happened?" he asked kindly, softly. Martha's body trembled under his touch, and he couldn't help but marvel at her display of weakness. Out of all the companions he had ever had the privilege of traveling with, Martha Jones had been the unbreakable one. Never phased, never cracking.

"I had a team of agents with me," Martha began, forcing her trembling lips to form coherent phrases, "We were investigating some strange readings around his area."

"In the buildings?" Jack wanted to know. He scanned the empty windows, suddenly suspicious of their deserted appearance.

"No." Martha shook her head, pushing herself away from the captain. "From under the ground."

Jack stared down at the cement beneath his feet.

"Anyway," Martha continued, "Like I already said, Mickey and I were sent here with a group of seven other UNIT agents to locate the origins of the readings. We were getting ready to wrap up and head back the other day – we had collected some samples of the readings and wanted to get them analyzed – when Agent Forde had an idea." She sighed shakily, drawing herself to full height. Jack took full account of their immediate surroundings during the momentary lull.

"He suggested that we use the I.T.A. to find out what was going on under the surface," Martha explained.

"I.T.A.?" Jack asked. "Never heard about it before."

"Instantaneous Transportation Apparatus," Martha elaborated. "It's a teleportation device that UNIT's been working on for a while now."

_Ah, another project, then._ Jack nodded silently. One of these days, he mused, UNIT was going to step over the line. They kept pushing their limits, and it wouldn't be too long before some catastrophic event wiped the organization off of the face of reality forever. Just like Torchwood. He grimaced at the sound of that name, despite the fact that he had been working on re-establishing that very same organization. It took him a second to realize that Martha had stopped talking, and was examining his expression, head tilted slightly to the side.

"Sorry," he apologized, "I was just thinking about some things. So, the I.T.A.?"

"Agent Forde volunteered to use the I.T.A. to go underground and see if there was anything worth looking for."

"What," Jack joked, one eyebrow arching, "Like, some underground facility?"

Martha didn't laugh. She looked him directly in the eyes, and something about her stony expression subdued the time traveler immediately.

"Exactly," she answered. The one word dropped into the conversation like a weight, shattering their friendly talk.

"He went down there," she continued, each word frigid and ringing empty from her lips, "_Without_ the permission of either Mickey or me. He managed to obtain footage of some 'underground facility' as you put it." She laughed. It was short and ugly. "At least, we got ten seconds of footage."

Silence stretched between the two. Jack was certain he knew where the story was going, but dreaded actually hearing it. If he could, he would've paused this moment, allowing the ending to go undiscovered indefinitely. Or even better, he would have ended their interaction with the hug at the beginning and left. But to abandon her now, when she was so close to breaking down completely…that would be nothing short of cruel.

"What happened to him?"

"We don't know." Martha snapped her mouth shut. Obviously, the story had reached its conclusion. Jack could easily fill in the details from there.

"But you didn't leave," he said. "You stayed here, because you're thinking about going after him, where ever he is."

Martha nodded. "I'm responsible for every agent on this team, and I'm not leaving without first trying to get him to safety."

"But how are you going to get to him?" It wasn't like Martha to go charging into a haphazard plan without thought or preparation. "Doesn't he have the I.T.A., or whatever it's called?"

In response to Jack's question, Martha reached into the pocket of her jacket. She pulled out a small device, shaped like a half-circle. Several lights blinked on its surface.

"There are two I.T.A.'s," she explained. "Granted, the only two in existence, but that's good enough for me." She turned it over in her hands, sliding a finger along its shiny, smooth rim. "If it can get me to Agent Forde, then that's really all that matters."

Jack was quiet, a retort weighing uncomfortably on the tip of his tongue. He could understand Martha's position; time and again, he'd been in a situation where someone under his care needed help. But to go rushing in like this, without much of a plan – not to mention an almost certainty of extreme danger and/or death – didn't sit well with him. He needed to make her see this, somehow.

"But you don't even know where he is!" Jack pointed out. "Only ten seconds of footage; do you know where he went, or where he could be now? What if it was just his camera, and it stopped functioning? He could be anywhere. Have you been down to that…where ever Agent Forde happens to be right now?" He paused for breath.

Martha didn't respond. She flipped the I.T.A. over in her hands, a sliver of doubt flashing across her face.

"The I.T.A. is equipped with a tracking device," she finally said. Her voice was small and tentative, as if it were a fact she'd rather not reveal. "It's weak, but Mickey's been able to monitor it."

Jack sighed, deflated. Time for a new approach.

"If it's that weak, then it could cut out at any time. Assuming you made it down there alright, and managed to survive longer than ten seconds, what if you suddenly lose the signal?"

Again, Jack noted the look of wavering uncertainty that passed over Martha. She bit her lip, staring blankly down at the device cradled in shaking palms. As Jack examined the device, a dull glimmer caught his eyes, grabbing his attention and bringing home the sacrifice that Martha Jones was willing to make.

Almost of its own accord, Jack's arm shot out to Martha, and he took her left hand in his own. Gently turning it over, her thin fingers splayed across his palm, he stared at the small cluster of diamonds. They winked up at him from their fixed place on a band of tarnished gold.

"What about him?" Jack questioned in a barely-whisper. Martha blinked down at the ring, as if really seeing it for the first time. Then she pulled her hand away, but in a slow, deliberate movement. Not hurried or angered, as he would have thought.

"Mickey," she said finally. She turned the ring several times, looking up and off into the patch of sky just beyond Jack's head.

"Mickey the Idiot?" Jack whistled softy, one eyebrow rising to almost to his hairline. "Now what'd he do to deserve you?"

Martha giggled, overcome with a crashing wave of fondness and love. "I have no idea."

Jack didn't laugh. His expression schooled itself back into an almost-glare, only his eyes portraying the amount of concern and something quite similar to fear that shoved against the stony hardness.

"He and I agreed…" she gulped. "We agreed that this was the best course of action." The words squeezed out of her throat, hanging heavily in the air between them.

Jack looked down at the ring. It blinked in the sunlight, seeming to return his gaze. Then, like the beam of golden sunshine gleaming on the diamonds, he was illumined by the metaphorical glow of an amazing idea. So sudden did it come to him, and so brightly did it shine, that he grinned unintentionally.

"What?" Martha inquired snappishly. She was still caught up in the throes of the desperate situation, and the bleak responsibility that lay before her. Jack, on the other hand, felt the weight of dark despondence lift off his chest, and he could've laughed if it weren't for his friend's distressed state.

"Send me," he said quickly, tripping over his words in a rush to get them out fast enough. "I'll go down there and get Agent Forde. What's the worst that could happen to me? Death?" He chuckled.

Martha pondered the offer. To be honest, she was taken aback by the selfless gesture, and wasn't quite sure how to respond.

"It's my responsibility," she began.

"Listen," Jack cut her off, "I want to do it. I thought I was just passing through; turns out, I come here exactly when you needed me most. The Doctor's not around to do it, but he would've offered the same thing. And you probably would've accepted his help." He shrugged, trying to show Martha that he wasn't offended by the comparison. "Please let me help you."

Martha stood still for a moment longer, uncomfortably twisting the device in her hands.

"Please," Jack repeated, his voice dropping to a whisper.

"Fine." Martha nodded her head slowly. Jack slumped forward slightly, relief flooding through him.

"Alright, then," he said quietly. "Show me where I need to be."

* * *

"Here's where Agent Forde was last," Martha said, pointing to the patch of earth beneath her feet. "At least, this is his last above-ground location."

Jack stepped forward, positioning himself directly where Martha had been standing. Stalks of wheat tickled his fingers, swaying lazily to-and-fro on all sides for miles around. A clear blue sky, dotted with white puffs of cloud, curved overhead in an endless arc.

"Here," Martha handed over the I.T.A. Jack took it; it was warm to the touch.

"Remember," Martha continued, "There's only two of those right now. So if you lose that one, you're gonna have to compensate for it."

"Nice to know you care so much for my well-being," Jack teased. Martha sighed and shook her head. Then she sobered.

"Be careful," she said. "Come back."

"When don't I?" Jack laughed. Maybe, if he smiled and joked, it would make it easier for Martha…even if he ended up not coming back. He saluted smartly, then pressed down on the activation button before he could change his mind.

* * *

The teleportation process itself was…impossible for Jack Harkness to describe. The first sensation that he experienced, in the space of a second or less, was that of being torn apart. Deconstruction, down to the molecular level, ripped him to shreds. This was followed by a blank space of nothingness, then a blur of light and colors. His feet made contact with something hard, and suddenly he had all of his joints again. Blurred blobs arranged themselves into solid, three-dimensional shapes that made up his new surroundings. Although it seemed as if several years had passed, Jack guessed that the teleport had taken no longer than several _seconds_.

He rocked shakily, blinking rapidly to clear his vision. A glaring white light pressed itself onto his eyes whichever way he turned. It took the captain much longer than it should have to come to the conclusion that his sight wasn't impaired; rather, he was enclosed in a white-walled chamber.

It was small, square, and completely pristine. Not a spot could be seen on the white panels that surrounded him. From an invisible source, artificial lighting provided the harsh flare that had nearly blinded Jack when he had first opened his eyes. His sense of smell kicked in suddenly, bringing to his attention a malodorous scent that knocked him back. The air was stagnant with the smell; something that reminded him of cleaning supplies, except ten times stronger.

Jack shook his head and gave himself a quick pat-down. It seemed that all of his organs had ended up in the right place, and he had all of his limbs. Then he started forward, cautiously, taking note of everything around him. Lights still working, strong acidic smell hanging in the air, spotless wall panels…Jack had the sneaking suspicion that this place – whatever it was – wasn't necessarily in disuse.

_Remember what you came here for._

"Agent Forde," Jack muttered. He dug into his coat pocket and pulled out the I.T.A. It had survived the teleport, and it still seemed to be in working condition.

"Forde!" he yelled, cupping his hands around his mouth. There was no response, except for a small noise that Jack hadn't heard before: a wet, splashing sound. Following his ears, Jack wandered to the edge of the floor – also a blinding white in color – and came to a halt as the panels stopped abruptly. It gave way to a murky, brown-and-green liquid that hissed and swirled slowly. The fumes that rose from it were overpowering, and Jack's throat burned as he took in the toxic scent.

Alright; so the water (if it even was that) was probably deadly. Best to stay away from that.

Now that he had a better idea of his environment, Captain Harkness contemplated his next course of action. Obviously, he had to find an exit. That next part wasn't hard; Jack had noticed a round door with a stick figure on it shortly after he had entered the room. But the thick, slow-moving liquid stretched out before him, blocking off his platform from the door. Only a few white panels dotted the distance between him and freedom, suspended in the air above the toxic fumes.

Jack stepped back, calculating the distance from the end of the floor to the nearest floating platform. His back brushed against the wall. Tensing up, Jack took a moment of preparation before dashing forward. His boots thunked loudly against the tile, his dark blue coat flapped out behind him like a cape. The dark, acidic broth rushed towards him as he got closer to the edge of the low-lying platform. At the last possible moment, Jack leaped forward. His feet left the ground, and he was soaring through the air. He inhaled the strong scent that rose up to him from below. Stretching his hands out and throwing his legs forward, Jack willed himself to go on, even as he felt himself beginning to fall.

_*THUNK*_

He rolled onto the surface of the platform and slid to a stop. Out of breath, Jack lay against the panel, letting his shallow gasps even out. Blood pounded in his skull, and his heart beat too quickly in his chest. Slowly, deliberately, Jack pulled himself up into a sitting position, ignoring the stabbing pains of protest coming from his arms and legs. Beyond him, the next stepping-stone beckoned tantalizingly. He stood up, estimating the distance to be at least five feet. Five feet of deadly floor space.

"Right, then," he muttered, rubbing his hands together. Going back was pointless, stalling was stupid. Jack slid backward until he was teetering on the edge of the raised white podium. For a moment, he envisioned a skinny figure by his side, wielding a small, blue device. In his mind's eye, Jack could picture the man perfectly, lanky legs spread out as he covered the distance between the panels in a single bound, an excited cry escaping his lips and reflecting the almost-manic joy that sparked in a pair of protuberant, chocolate-brown eyes.

"What the heck?" he asked the empty air. Cracking a grin, Jack rushed forward. In a in a few long strides, he had reached the end of the platform.

"ALLONS-Y!" he screamed, flinging himself forward. For a single, glorious moment, he was suspended in space. There was nothing lifting him up, and he had left gravity behind him. He leaned forward, willing momentum to carry him to the panels. Closer…closer…

Then physics seemed to take notice of the time traveler. The fleeting moment was gone. There was the rush of air, yanking at his clothes and tearing the breath from his partly open mouth. He twisted in the air, his elongated form folding in on itself. His back was to the ground, but he could smell rather than see the liquid rushing up to catch his falling, fragile body.

It was indeed thicker than it looked, because the splash when he made contact with the watery substance was pathetic at best. He didn't bother to thrash; the shock of free-falling was still fresh, and he was having enough trouble wrapping his mind around the fact that he could no longer hear, see, or breathe. Then an explosion of pain shot through him, forcing every other emotion and thought from his head.

Jack was no stranger to the occasional morbid thought. Everyone had them, every now and again. One idea that Jack had contemplated more than once was how it might feel to be eaten alive. He had read about cannibals in history books when he was nothing more than a boy attending a local Boeshane school. Animals like piranhas and Venus' Flytrap fascinated him. What did the victim experience during the process of being killed, piece by piece, while still remaining partially alive throughout the whole, horrible ordeal? Needless to say, Jack had never thought that he would get to answer the question via personal experience. And his imaginings had been quite shallow compared to the real thing.

He was dissolving into the liquid. It bubbled over his head, fully submerging him in a brown fog. Thought, sight, smell, and all other senses were irrevelant, miniscule, even; there was only mind-numbing, all-consuming pain. Toxic waste poured into his eye sockets, his ears. It seeped through tightly-shut lips, forced its way into every opening it could find on his too-vulnerable body. His clothes were melting off of his skin, exposing it to a burning sensation worse than fire. His paralyzed limbs were curled against his stomach. Black specks swam into his line of vision, pushing back the red haze. Scorching throbs of agonizing discomfort settled into a buzz in the background, and a tiny part of his mind that seemed unaffected by the insanity of pain noted that he was probably dying. The acidic overdose was far too much for his physical form to handle, and his body was reacting in the only way it knew how.

Slowly, Jack allowed himself to relax, stretching out his arms and legs and letting them hang in the brown liquid. With a wave of emotion akin to relief, he embraced the oncoming blackness, the nothingness, to provide some respite from the scorching burn that licked at his skin and gnawed at his insides.

Unfortunately, for one such as Jack Harkness, not even death could offer deliverance.

The next thing he knew, his eyes were open again. Life was thrust back into his body, and he was involuntarily gasping for air that wouldn't come. Toxic water flowed easily into his mouth, setting his throat aflame. This time, though, he didn't hang limply. He flailed desperately against the weight of his aqueous prison, churning the brown liquid in an attempt to get his head above water. Froth sloshed around his body as he came up suddenly. Florescent lights gleamed down at him from the ceiling, and he could see their glare on the white tiles in front of him. Shoving the pain to the back of his mind, Jack struck out for the panels. His strokes were erratic; spasms shook his arms and legs, making movement nearly impossible. And the pain continued to push up and never stop and never stop and never stop…

It must've been years later when his corroded hands brushed against the rough edge of the panels. Frigid fingers scrabbled for a handhold, clamping awkwardly in a half-hearted grip. Streams of toxic liquid ran off his skin, forming a large puddle that stained the completely-white floor. The water sucked hungrily at his heavy clothes, pulling him down. In a final burst of frenzied strength, Jack ground his teeth together and heaved upward. The pool of acidic liquid relented at last, releasing its hold on him and splashing back into the basin. He dragged himself forward a few inches before falling face-down on the tile. The thin sheet of toxic water dug into his cheek and palms of his hands. His skin was cracked and dry; it was as if the liquid had leeched all of the moisture out of his body. He was scorched, burning both inside and out. Acid was nibbling on his skin, working its way inward. Smarting eyes couldn't see anything except a bright light that faded in and out. As he passed from consciousness and into black oblivion again, the small, sane part of his mind realized that he couldn't make out a heartbeat. Maybe he was really dead this time, he wondered. He was slightly surprised that he didn't feel scared or unnerved by this possibility. Then again, it didn't really matter now, did it?

* * *

When he woke up again, he couldn't tell if he was really awake. All he knew was that he was still hurting, and he couldn't move; but he felt awful, and he needed to shift his position, even if just a little bit.

It was too dark. There was no blinding light, no white glare on white panels. He was somewhere new, or maybe nowhere at all.

Maybe he was dead. Was this what "the other side" looked like?

But why did it still have to _hurt_? The pain was still there, he was still on fire, and he was being chewed to bits while still being alive. _Make the pain stop. Make the pain stop. Just make it…oh, please._

_ *Why are you still alive?*_

Was that him? His own musings on his hopeless situation? He couldn't really tell.

_*You should be dead. You shouldn't have survived that.*_

His stomach churned. Nausea was building up, shoving bile up his throat and into his mouth.

_*How are you __**still**__ alive?*_

Jack lurched forward, regurgitating toxic liquid – mixed with whatever meal he had last – onto his clothes and legs. The bitter flavor of acid filled his mouth, charring his tongue and leaving a lingering lemony aftertaste. Inky clouds blurred his already-hazy sight, and his head fell back. It thunked painfully as it came into contact with a hard surface.

Darkness slipped into his field of vision, and he could have sighed as the pain began to ebb and wither into the background. Before blackness claimed him a final time, he was dimly aware of a soft yellow glow hanging above his head. He lost himself in the beam of cold light as it swung back and forth, matching the erratic pulse of his wildly beating heart.

* * *

**Whew! 5,000 words you guys. This is the longest one-shot I have ever written. This was done over the course of about a week. Kudos to those who read to the end. You can get a cake, or something along those lines.**

** For those who don't know what the crossover is (still), it's Doctor Who and Portal (Portal 2, to be more specific). **

** So…what do you guys think? Should I continue this? I like how it's going so far…and I may expand upon it anyway, no matter what other people think/say.**

** By the by, I listened to a Portal remix while typing this. It's called "You Monster", and it can be found on Youtube. I like it a lot, and it's completely clean and all that jazz.**

** Anyhoo, see you guys around for the next prompt!**


	47. Prompt 28: Mysterious Admirer

**Hi, again!**

**For those who might be interested, I'm turning my Doctor Who/Portal crossover one-shot into a full-length story. It's called **_**Mind of the Monster**_**. **

**Anyhoo, here's the next prompt! This one has been sitting in my mind for a while now, and it's time I get it written. I know I still have a bunch of requests that I need to fulfill; just be patient, folks. I'll get to all of them (eventually).**

**God bless and have a great day (or night)!**

**ThePro-LifeCatholic**

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**Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who. I also don't own this particular prompt idea.**

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**WARMACHINEROX47:**** Hi, there. Well, you found me. Congratulations.**

**General Cat:**** Awww, thanks! I love the Christian support, as well as the praise for my story. It always brightens my day. Feel free to request anything at any time! If you're so into this prompt-fic, you could always check out some of my other Doctor Who stories on my profile. ;)**

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**Writing Prompt #28: Mysterious Admirer**

**Characters: **Clara Oswald, 11th Doctor, River Song, 12th Doctor

**Shippings: **one-sided Clara/Doctor, River/Doctor

**Genre:** Romance/Friendship/Hurt/Comfort

**Rating: **K

**Summary: **Clara still can't help but think of the Doctor as her boyfriend, and the TARDIS takes Twelve and Clara to the same place as River and Eleven. How will Clara react to seeing Eleven and River kissing and happily in love?

**Prompted by: **QueenAnneTudor

* * *

The closest that Clara Oswald had ever gotten to lying to the Doctor was when they discussed the subject of their relationship.

"I'm not your boyfriend, Clara," the man had said. It had been so strange, to hear a different accent, to see a different face, and yet she knew that the person in front of her had been _him._ The Doctor. _Her Doctor._

"I never said you were," she had replied. This much had been true; the rest of the sentence had passed by, unspoken. There was nothing between them. She was his companion, his support, his carer and best friend. He was her guardian, her hero, her impossible and lonely friend.

Clara folded her arms across her chest and watched the Doctor at work. He was pacing around the console, flipping switches and stabbing at buttons with a careless deliberation that only he could pull off. No bowtie, no frills or long purple coat that flapped out behind him like a superhero cape, but she could still see _him. _The man who had fondly bopped her on the nose when he passed her, who had single-handedly saved her life and whisked her away to see the wonders of the universe.

The very man whom she had grown to…

A sudden jerk threw the absent-minded companion out of her musings. The TARDIS rocked to the side, causing Clara to fly towards the banister. Catching the metal pole, she cast a look around the console room, searching for the Doctor. When her gaze finally landed on him, she couldn't help but laugh. He was hanging onto the console with one hand, kicking his legs in the air. His mouth was wide open, as if he had been meaning to scream and never got around to getting the sound out.

The Doctor's skinny form flopped back down to the ground as the TARDIS rumbled again. A tremor shook her insides and threw her two occupants against the nearest wall.

"You alright?" the Doctor managed to gasp. Clara barely had time to give him a wordless nod before they were separated again. Quivers continued to rack the ship for several more seconds, and just when Clara really began to fear that she might become sick, the TARDIS ground to a sudden, violent stop.

For several long moments, Clara remained on the floor, waiting for her heart rate to slow down and the room to stop spinning in circles. Only when she felt the ground beneath her body did she raise herself slowly up onto her hands and knees. The low hum of the TARDIS, slightly disoriented and warbling between pitches, reached her ears, as well as the _*hiss* _of steam and…was that coughing?

A hazy grey cloud of smoke had filled the interior of the TARDIS while Clara had been recuperating on the floor, so it was no wonder that the Doctor was hacking. When Clara found him, he was underneath the floor panels, examining the wiring and tut-tutting softly to his ship.

"You alright, Doctor?" Clara inquired, rubbing her smarting eyes. The Doctor batted at the smoke ineffectually.

"I'm fine," he responded, not even bothering to turn around. Clara folded her arms and shifted her weight from one foot to another, quietly watching the Doctor attend to the TARDIS. They might have stayed this way for several minutes, both content with his or her particular task, relishing the calm of a few precious moments of stillness. But Ms. Oswald's sharp ears – trained to catch the scratching of pencil on paper as students passed notes, or the faint whispers of chatty pupils, or the faint "buzz" of a text alert – picked up a sound from outside the TARDIS. She glanced down at the Doctor, but he seemed to be oblivious of the new development.

"Hey, Doctor," she piped up.

"What?" the Doctor finally asked. He leaned forward, going deeper into the bowels of his ship.

"I'm just…gonna take a look outside, if that's alright with you."

The TARDIS took this moment to emit a piercing noise that sounded like a combination of a whistle and a shriek. The Doctor leaped backwards, dropping the wires he had been pulling on a half-second ago. He finally faced his companion.

"Sorry; what did you say?"

"Can I go outside?" Clara asked again, getting right to the point.

"We don't know what's out there," the Doctor reminded her. He spoke slowly, as if trying to describe a scenario to a small child. Clara's response was to place her hands on her hips and pinch her lips together.

"I can take care of myself, Doctor. Just one look?"

The Time-Lord looked ready to refuse her again, but his expression smoothed out into a half-smile. Shaking his head, he sighed and threw his arms up into the air.

"Fine. Just one look. Don't go too far. And if you see anything dangerous," here he jabbed a finger squarely at Clara's face, "_Don't_ engage it in any way!"

"Thanks!" Clara exclaimed, throwing herself forward. The Doctor opened his mouth to tell her off, but was unable to get any sound out before he was engulfed in a large, wriggling hug. All he could do was flail his arms until Clara pulled away with a huge smile plastered to her face. Running past the console, Clara practically skipped to the wooden doors of the TARDIS. When she reached them, she came to a halt, fingers raised and poised.

Here was the moment. Anything and everything waited outside those blue doors. What would she see this time? Another world? Earth in the past? A savage, cruel monster? There was only one way to find out.

_*snap*_

The TARDIS' doors banged open, revealing a stretch of silver sand that surrounded the blue ship on all sides and ran onwards to meet the horizon. Clara gaped at the view; soft light made the grains of sand glimmer and glow like a million tiny diamonds. Gently, gingerly, she tapped the surface of the planet with one foot. When she didn't sink or catch fire, Clara sucked a deep breath and leaped forward. She landed with a muffled _*plop* _in a sloping sand dune. A silver spray of sand shot out from underneath her feet and settled again, looking as if nothing had disturbed the patch of earth. The English Teacher could've spent all day happily constructing sand castles if she didn't hear the noise again. Turning in the direction of the noise, Clara began to make her way awkwardly across the sand, waving her arms for balance as she trekked up small hills and stumbled down their crumbling slopes.

She heard the sound again, louder this time. A new noise accompanied it now: the wet _*splat* _of water striking wet sand. Skirting around a particularly steep and challenging dome of sand, Clara took shelter behind a lopsided rock structure. The squat tower was narrow and smooth at the bottom, worn away by centuries of waves washing over its surface. From her hiding spot, Clara could clearly make out the noise; to her surprise, the sound identified itself as laughter. A half-second of indecision paralyzed the companion, but she pushed her fear firmly to the side.

"What would the Doctor do?" she muttered softly. Without giving herself extra time to stall, Clara peeked out from behind the rock…and froze.

_It was him._

_ It was __**him.**_

There were two figures on the beach, standing where sand met sea. The silver grains shimmered as clear rushes of water lapped at them, sucking them away from the shoreline and into the watery depths far from shore. One of the two – a middle-aged woman with a thick mane of gold hair clinging to her shoulders and back in stringy strands – was dressed in a gown fit for a queen. A deep-purple gown that was currently soaking wet, with pieces of seaweed hanging off of it.

"River?" Clara could hardly believe her eyes. But her gaze shifted quickly, focusing on the man who was chasing Professor Song across the beach.

He was in full tux, and the tux was covered in sand and what looked suspiciously like barnacles. His brown hair was tousled by the wind, his shoes and socks had been discarded in a heap near the rock, and his bowtie, barely knotted, was in danger of falling off his neck at any moment.

_Doctor._

_ The Doctor._

_**Her Doctor.**_

Clara shrank back against the structure, keeping her eyes fixed on the couple. They were chasing each other to-and-fro, flinging sand and seawater into the air and at the other's face. And they were _laughing._ Their voices danced across the breeze, intertwining with each other in a tangle of joyful merriment. As Clara watched, River and the Doctor came to a sudden standstill, a space of mere inches between them. There was no noise except for the crash of rippling waves and the low, haunting whistle of the wind. Then, slowly, the Doctor leaned down. River stood on tiptoe to meet him halfway.

Clara ducked behind the rock, unable to watch the unfolding events. She was suddenly aware of a sickening twist in her stomach, a flood of emotions that she couldn't quite identify. There was hurt, confusion, shock…

…There was sadness. A tinted sorrow that left a bitter taste in the back of her choked throat.

Without looking back, Clara stumbled away from the rock, tripping through the sand that erased her winding path back to the TARDIS.

* * *

Clara shut the doors gently, listening to them click softly as they closed. She leaned against the door for a moment, squeezing her eyes shut. She would refuse the tears that wanted to run freely down her cheeks. She was strong. She was Clara Oswald.

_"She's my carer. She cares so I don't have to."_

She had never seen him so happy, so child-like, so carefree and _young._

What was wrong with her?

"Aha!" The Doctor's voice shouted suddenly. There was a crash and all the lights died at once. Then a loud hum sounded throughout the whole ship, and the TARDIS came to life. A contented thrum rumbled from seemingly everywhere. The Doctor emerged from beneath the console, wiping black streaks from his hands onto his coat. He was beaming, looking more youthful than what his appearance suggested.

"Clara?" The smile fell from his face when he caught sight of his companion's expression. The Doctor was not one to show concern easily (not in this body, anyway), but he still felt it keenly from time to time: more times than he would care to admit. And all too often, his biting concern found its source in his companions.

"Clara," he tried again, more softly. Clara turned towards him with shining eyes and a quivering smile. "Are you alright?"

She nodded, wordlessly, and stepped forward. The Doctor immediately knew what she wanted – _needed _– and he couldn't see how he could deny her. Opening his arms, he braced himself for the suffocating neck-hold.

What he didn't expect was the warm embrace that Clara gave him. She buried her face in his clothing, taking in the smell of oil and burned rubber, stardust and comets; the scent of eternity and a thousand, thousand worlds clung to the fabric of his purple shirt. She laid her head against his chest, listening to the rhythmic pounding of two hearts. Hearts that had endured so much and lost more than words could express.

"Clara," he whispered hoarsely into her hair. She smelled of strawberry shampoo and textbooks; of newness and freshness and the scent of wonder and a thousand, thousand worlds.

"Clara, you know I'm always here for you."

_"Clara, I'm not your boyfriend."_

Clara sank into the folds of his coat, wiping a few scattered tears onto his coatsleeve. His strong yet fragile grip comforted her, giving her warmth and strength; a sense of home and belonging. Perhaps he could never give her e_verything_, but what he had given her was far more than enough. She smiled.

"I know."

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**Here you are, ****QueenAnneTudor****! I have been suffering from writer's block like you guys wouldn't believe. Even though I was on Spring Break last week, I was unable to finish any writing whatsoever. Hopefully it will get better, now that I've gotten a prompt actually written and out of the way.**


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